
Gass 'X% \\ \3 
Book__ K5 



L 
RULES S^-z. 



ENGLISH COMPOSITION, 

AND PARTICULARLY FOR 

THEMES: 

DESIGNED 

FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS, 

AND IN AID OP 

SELF-INSTRUCTION. 



By JOHN RIPPINGHAM, 

PROFESSOR OF ELOQUENCE, AND LECTURER UPON ELOQUENCE 
AT THE SURRY INSTITUTION, &C. 



FIFTH EDITION. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR. 

ONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN, 

PATERNOSTER-ROW 5 AND 

W. GINGER, COLLEGE-STREET, WESTMINSTER. 
1825. 



yx 



f 



y^ % ¥ 



; TO THE VERY REVEREND 

WILLIAM VINCENT, D.D. 

dean of westminster, &c. 

Sir, 

They are motives far less unworthy than 
ostentation, which have induced me to pre- 
sent this volume to you. The solicitude you 
so ably evinced for the improvement of youth, 
will, I am persuaded, obtain your encourage- 
ment toward any work which is likely to acce- 
lerate this important object. 

Whether this book deserve such a character, 
it does not become me to determine : but the 
consciousness of having been influenced by 
the desire of facilitating an elegant and useful 
accomplishment, has given me confidence to 
offer this attempt to the public. 

If I have been so fortunate as to succeed in 
my wish of rendering service to literature, I 

B 



11 



persuade myself that I shall be favoured by 
your approbation ; and I may then pride my- 
self in the reflection of having given testi- 
mony, by this dedication, that I am, with 
every consideration of respect, 

Sir, 

Your most obedient, 

And most humble Servant, 

J. RrPPINGHAM. 

12, Clifford- Street, 
June 26. 1811. 



ADVERTISEMENT 

TO THE 

THIRD EDITION, 



While this edition was in preparation for 
the press, the public were bereft of that great 
and good man, whose name is prefixed to 
the dedication of this book. The productions, 
even the casual productions, of so comprehen- 
sive and acute a mind as that of Dr. Vincent, 
are always interesting to the world : and 
I have therefore subjoined a letter which he 
wrote in acknowledgment of a copy of this 
work. 

" Dear Sir, — As one long employed in the 
" duty of education, I cannot be indifferent 
" to any treatise on that subject. I thank 
" you for your obliging notice of Westmin- 
" ster School, and the Dean of Westminster, 

b 2 



" with the civility and without the adulation 
" of a dedication. 

"Your work must be of essential use to 
11 teachers, or to those who are endeavouring 
" to teach themselves : as to boys, in general, 
" they will pay little attention to a treatise ; 
u they must be taught by oral instruction, and 
" that, as you justly say, by rule upon rule. 
" They are taught by nothing but the daily 
" labour of the master ; during which the pro- 
" gress is scarcely perceptible : and yet when 
"the age of comprehension arrives, the boy 
" feels that he has been taught, and is able 
" to put the rules in practice, 

" To speak of the progress of my own mind, 
" I can truly say, that without being con- 
" scious of its own powers, I was surprised 
" at the facility with which I composed my 
" first sermon. It is such an one that I can 
" preach it now, after fifty years' experience 
" in the art, without being ashamed of it : 
" and yet I had been as heedless and negli- 
" gent as other boys. 



V 



" Still, I perfectly agree with you, that a 
" theme is the best method of teaching them 
" to think, and to express themselves : it com- 
" prehends the parts of all composition, even 
" poetry and narration. In a sermon, or a 
£ speech in parliament three hours long, each 
" illustrative example is narrative ; and Pope's 
<c Essay on Man is only an accumulation of 
" arguments. 

" In this light I approve much of your 
" work j and the narrations in the Appendix 
" are an appropriate part of your plan. Wish- 
" ing it all success, I remain, your faithful 
" servant, 

" W. Vincent. 

" Deanry, May 5th 7 1812. 
" To John Rippingham> Esq. Clifford- Street" 

The solicitous assiduity with which this ac- 
complished scholar, discharged the duties of 
an instructor, has been acknowledged by the 
respect of the public in general ; and by the 
grateful veneration of his pupils in particular. 

b 3 



VI 

But after a series of more than forty years, 
devoted to the laborious duties of a teacher ; 
it was by the unsolicited patronage of a public 
friinister, to whom Dr. Vincent was a personal 
stranger, that he was relieved from the neces- 
sity of further continuance in his toilsome 
avocations. 

" I was desirous," as Lord Sidmouth has 
since expressed himself, " of affording the 
w means of respectable competence to the 
« Dean, before age had deprived him of the 
" faculties for enjoyment : for I felt it to be a 
" public duty that the declining years of a 
" man, who had conferred so much honour 
*< upon one of our public schools, and who 
" had done so much good to our country, 
" should be distinguished by dignity in sta- 
" tion, and ease in circumstances \" 



INTRODUCTION. 



The art of arranging and expressing our 
ideas is of the utmost utility. Knowledge, 
however various, and genius, however bril- 
liant, avail but little, if their result cannot be 
communicated with clearness and facility. Yet 
observation shews that excellence in this par- 
ticular is most uncommon. It is by no means 
unusual to meet young men, respectable in 
classical acquirement, who are unable to illus- 
trate familiar topics when offered to their at- 
tention. 

The causes of this deficiency I believe are 
various; but they do not demand inquiry here. 
The defect has been felt and acknowledged, 
and therefore no probable means should be 
omitted for its removal. 

The art of English composition consists of 
jb 4 



vm 

two distinct branches : one u grammar, which 
teaches the correct dependency of words : the 
other is a practical union of logic and rhetoric, 
which teaches order and elegance in the con- 
ception and arrangement of ideas. 

The former of these branches has been so 
ably treated by the diligence and ingenuity of 
Mr, Lindley Murray, that further improve- 
ment seems to be almost precluded : but hav- 
ing mentioned English grammar, I cannot 
omit the opportunity of endeavouring to cor- 
rect an opinion which is entertained by many 
persons, that it is a pursuit unnecessary to 
those who are acquainted with the regimen of 
Latin. 

It is true that almost every language is 
formed upon principles which are common to 
all others : but it does not follow, either that 
a knowledge of those principles wall teach the 
peculiarities by which the various dialects of 
mankind are contradistinguished, or that the 
Latin grammar can inculcate the particular 
features of the English. The opinion which 



these remarks are Intended to correct, seems 
to have arisen from the persuasion that our 
tongue has been derived from the Latin. If 
this were the fact, it would not sustain the 
inference which has been drawn — an infer- 
ence which is contradicted by the experience 
of every one who has studied the Persian and 
Arabic, or the Italian and Spanish languages. 
But the fact is otherwise. English has been 
formed, not of Latin altogether, or even i\\ 
the greater part Its origin and genius is 
Saxon ; and the structure of it is Saxon to this 
day — except that it has dropt much of the 
Saxon inflection, and become more simple. 
This happens to all languages by lapse of time, 
and the effort of the mind to abbreviate and 
facilitate expression. The difference between 
ancient and modern Greek consists princi- 
pally in the loss of inflection : an ancient 
Greek verb, with its participles, consists of 
eleven hundred terminations : a modern 
Greek verb has not more than an Italian 
one. 

b 5 



X 



We are also indebted to the Greek, thd 
French, the Hebrew, and others, for a mul* 
titude of radical and adopted words, A lan- 
guage thus derived must have many peculia- 
rities ; some incorporated with the phrases it 
has imported, and others arising from such an 
heterogeneous combination. These peculia- 
rities cannot be appreciated by the knowledge 
of Latin only, or of any other language. 
It is the idiom, which in fact constitutes 
the greatest difficulty in the attainment of dif- 
ferent tongues. The idiom of our native lan-> 
guage is indeed acquired by habit. The boy 
who learns Latin, or the girl who learns French, 
obtains the theory of grammar, but custom 
renders familiar the practical part of the ver- 
nacular tongue: it becomes indeed so familiar, 
that to many, the study of it appears super- 
fluous. It appears to be more readily caught 
by the ear than taught by rule : a shrewd boy 
or a well-bred woman, is sometimes struck 
more forcibly by an impropriety in their 
own language, than a scholar. But it hardly 



Seems to result, from these observations, that 
k knowledge of the accurate dependency of 
words will be obtained, without a careful re- 
gard to the reason and circumstances, which 
constitute the difference between correct and 
ungrammatical diction, 

• A faculty acquired by use, conducted by 
habit, and tried by the ear, carries us on 
without the labour of reflection : we meet 
with no obstables in our progress, or we do 
not perceive them : we find ourselves able to 
proceed without rules, and we do not suspect 
that they may be of use. Hence, a gramma- 
tical study of our own language, until lately, 
formed no part of the ordinary course of in- 
struction. It is however a defect which no 
other advantage can supply. Much practice 
in the polite world, and a general acquaintance 
with the best authors, must undoubtedly be 
considered as excellent helps ; but even these 
will hardly be sufficient. A critical know- 
ledge of ancient languages will be found still 
less adequate to the purpose. Dr. Bentley, 
the greatest critic and most able grammarian 

b 6 



Xll 

of the age in which he lived, was notoriously 
deficient in the knowledge of his native 
tongue : and he is not a solitary instance ; 
grammatical errors are plentifully scattered 
over the pages of many others of our eminent 
writers. Whoever, therefore, wishes to write 
and speak English with elegance and accuracy, 
must study the grammar of this language, as 
he would that of any other with which he 
desires to be acquainted. 

I hope this digression will be pardoned j 
but the subject of it appeared to me to be too 
important to be disregarded, when it could be 
introduced without any great impropriety. . 

The second part of the discipline necessary 
to acquire English composition, it is the 
object of this work to explain and illustrate. 

The word logic is formidable to young and 
uninformed minds, yet it must be the found- 
ation of such a treatise as this. No one can 
arrange his thoughts upon any subject without 
the use of reason ; and logic is nothing more 
than the art of reasoning* 

17 



Xlll 

Those who undertake to write upon any 
subject ought to be able to appreciate what- 
ever they mean to discuss— this is called per- 
ception. As soon as the subject is under- 
stood, an opinion is formed upon it, which is 
termed the judgment. The considerations 
which produce that judgment are designated 
arguments, and there is wanting only the 
method of aranging those arguments with 
perspicuity, to render complete the ability 
for mental discussion. 

But to render these operations of intellect 
usefrl or intelligible to others, some further 
requisites must be obtained, In mental in- 
vestigation, it is necessary to form a clear and 
accurate perception of the subject under re- 
gard : in written composition, that which has 
been thus perceived, must be correctly de- 
fined. Definition is indeed nothing more 
than a faithful statement of accurate percep- 
tion. It can however be produced, only by 
care; and sometimes not without patience. 
It must be limited to the subject upon which 



it is fornfied ; and must consist of those words 
which faithfully delineate the perception. By 
this latter restriction much is intended to be 
conveyed : for between relative ideas and 
words, there is an appropriate affinity. Pru* 
dence, caution, care, and circumspection may 
appear, to inconsiderate minds, as synonymous 
expressions : but so far from it, each of them, 
if correctly defined, would appear to be the 
name of a quality clearly distinct from the 
others. | After the habit of definition has been 
acquired, the structure and the analysis of 
propositions require the next attention. That 
which has been termed the judgment, is no- 
thing more than some comprehensive proposi- 
tion, of which the subject that has been de- 
fined constitutes the chief topic. This judg- 
ment must consist of a noun and verb : the 
noun being the subject that is under investi- 
gation ; and the verb denoting the action to 
which the subject is the chief party. 

The truth of this judgment is to be de- 
monstrated by intermediate considerations : 



XV 

and when these are methodically arranged, 
the theme is completed as to written as well 
as mental structure. 

But these are not sufficient for any one who 
is desirous of excelling in English composi- 
tion. Great effect arises from the choice of 
language, and the harmony in which words 
may be arranged. There is sometimes an 
affectation of treating a polished style with 
contempt, but it is indeed affectation. Instruc- 
tion is more successful when administered in 
a pleasing form — discussion is more interest- 
ing if clothed with elegance. The lofty 
mountain is an object of solemn contempla- 
tion ; but the flowers, with which it is adorned, 
add to the sublime the charms of beauty. 

In pursuance of this general outline, the 
present work is divided into three parts. * The 
first consists of the perception formed on each 



* In the later editions, two other parts have been added. 
— See the advertisements to the seeond and third editions. 



XVI 

proposed subject: the second includes the 
perception and judgment: and the third con- 
tains the perception, judgment, and argu- 
mentation, arranged in the form of correct 
themes. 

Considerable recourse has been had to the 
works of distinguished writers ; and the au- 
thor acknowledges aid from the labours of 
Addison, Johnson, Blair, Watts, and others. 
Selections from these have been introduced, 
as models of reasoning and composition far 
more likely to be useful than any which the 
weakness of an author's self-partiality could 
be induced to offer. Yet he has published 
some of his own effusions ; not only that he 
may approve himself somewhat competent in 
the art which he professes to teach, but also 
that he may, by his own composition, be the 
more conveniently enabled to illustrate the 
principles which he has laid down for the 
practice' of others. 

Great care has been taken to render this 
treatise suitable to the capacity of youthful in- 



xvu 



tellect ; and eligible for the important object 
which it proposes to attain : yet the author is 
sensible that this production may derive im- 
provement from the suggestions of others, and 
he will therefore gratefully attend to the ad- 
monitions of enlightened criticism. 

But after every exertion to familiarize th$ 
art of English composition, it would be vain 
to hope that youth will be taught by books 
only, however intelligibly they may be writ- 
ten. Works of this description must be useful 
to such persons as feel their own deficiency, 
and are desirous of obtaining the assistance 
which such publications profess to give. They 
will also be of use to teachers. Elementary 
books are employed in the various branches of 
literary education : and every one who knows 
any thing of the laborious avocations of an in- 
structor, is aware that although youth are 
taught by the oral repetition of rule upon 
rule, yet that the drudgery of teaching is 
greatly diminished by the aid of perspicuous 
treatises. 



XV111 

Before this introduction be closed, perhaps 
it will not be unbecoming to offer some con- 
siderations on the education of youth. 

The classics, mathematics, and the use of 
the native language, are the chief studies in 
the preparation for enlightened manhood; and 
of these, the classics certainly claim distin- 
guished preference. For a long time after 
education became an object of general solici- 
tude, the latter two of these pursuits obtained 
little regard in systems of instruction. They 
are, however, gradually acquiring the import- 
ance which they merit ; and I hope and be- 
lieve, they will soon be admitted to that rank, 
which their utility seems to deserve. 

But as to the mode in which youth should 
be trained to knowledge — I must own, 
that regarding the value of appointed disci- 
pline, scholastic emulation, and of that in- 
struction w T hich is administered by men, 
whose ability and attainments have been tried 
and approved, I give unhesitating preference 
to the public schools. It cannot be disputed 



XIX 

that there are many eminent scholars and ex- 
cellent teachers in private seminaries. But I 
am pleased in observing, that notwithstanding 
the strictures which have been made on the 
public seminaries of learning ; yet the parti- 
ality and veneration which have been enter- 
tained toward them by illustrious rank, pa- 
rental solicitude, and sound discrimination, 
seem in no wise to be diminished. 

Of the few things which perhaps remain to 
be wished in the- economy of public schools, 
probably we should desire more particular re- 
gard to the cultivation of English literature. 
But even such an expectation is suspended by 
a momentary consideration. 

The unremitting assiduity which is required 
to form a good classic scholar, leaves but 
little time for other pursuits. An acquaint- 
ance with the works of antiquity, is the first 
requisite of a gentleman's education, and an 
indispensable qualification for the study of 
the learned professions. All other acquire- 
ments are subordinate to this ; and when this 
is once attained, other pursuits become fami< 



XX 

liar. It is therefore by no means exception- 
able that the first and chief care of national 
scholastic establishments should be directed 
to this great attainment. Let it not, however, 
be imagined that the art of English composi- 
tion is disregarded. The discipline of West- 
minster school — beneath whose sacred shade 
some of the brightest ornaments of Great 
Britain have been formed — requires the exer- 
tions of its students to be employed in English 
composition once in every week. 

But there is another and a far more power- 
ful recommendation of the regimen of West- 
minster school to be found in its solicitous in- 
culcation of religious worship. On every Sab- 
bath day, on every Saturday, and on every 
day appointed by the church to be kept holy, 
the Westminster scholars are required to at- 
tend divine service. Nor is this all — they are 
enjoined to exercise upon the Scriptures once 
in every week, and Grotius de Veritate Reli- 
gionis Christianas, is one of their appointed 
readings. These circumstances confer on 
public education the highest eulogium. 



XXI 

In these days, wherein systematic infidelity 
is so industriously insinuated, no Christian can 
withhold from public schools the tribute of 
cordial admiration. 

After the sincere opinion which the author 
has thus expressed of education in public 
schools, he entertains an earnest hope that 
his work will not be considered as an attempt 
to interfere with the economy of those res- 
pected establishments. He is rather inclined 
to encourage an humble expectation that this 
book will not be deemed unworthy of their 
service, nor inconsistent with their established 
regulations. * 



* I beg leave to say, that although I have selected 
Westminster school as the more peculiar object of my 
humble praise, it has been with the most remote inten- 
tion of inculcating a disparagement of the other similar 
establishments. But having been engaged in the extra 
tuition of some students in that school, I felt myself more 
competent to speak of that, than of other national aca- 
demies. 



XXli 

The introduction is now concluded; and 
the work goes into the world with the author's 
most ardent wishes that it may be acceptable 
to those who teach, and to those who study 
the art of English composition. 



ADVERTISEMENT 

TO THE 

SECOND EDITION. 



The notice which this little book has otn 
tained, gives me an assurance that the wishes 
I entertained for its success and utility have 
not been disappointed. I cannot better ex- 
press the grateful sentiments which this pub- 
lic patronage has excited, than by rendering 
to the present edition every improvement I 
can bestow. 

The book will be found considerably en- 
larged by additional examples illustrative of 
the rules it formerly contained. A list of sub- 
jects has also been added, for the exercise of 
students, in the first three parts of the work. 
But the chief peculiarity of this edition con- 
sists in the fourth and fifth parts of the work, 
the whole of which is an increase to the for- 
mer impression. 



XXIV 

The object of this portion of the volume, is 
to discipline the mind into the practice of dis- 
covering and producing its own resources. 
The rules contained in the former divisions, 
teach the art of discussing subjects by three 
operations, those of definition, judgment, and 
argumentation. According to this mode, the 
student has to define the subject proposed, to 
form an opinion on it, and to state the reasons 
upon which that opinion was obtained. But 
it will occur to many persons, that it is not so 
easy, as it may at first seem, for a young per- 
son to ascertain and express the considera- 
tions from w 7 hich his conclusion or judgment 
has proceeded. The'object, therefore, of the 
additional part, has been . to furnish rules 
which will probably remove the apparent dif- 
ficulty. 

I will not solicit indulgence to this attempt 
because those who are aware of the inconve- 
niences in framing such precepts as will ex- 
pand the youthful intellect, will make suffi- 
cient allowance. 



THEMES 



EXPLAINED AND ILLUSTRATED. 



A theme is only the miniature of a declamation, essay, 
oration, or sermon. In each of these species of compo- 
sition, a subject is proposed, an inference drawn, and 
arguments adduced to support and authorise that conclu- 
sion. If no more be indispensable in these extended 
writings, neither can any thing further be necessary to 
constitute a theme. 

The commencement in the art of literary composition, 
requires nothing more than a gentle exercise of reason, 
No one attempting this accomplishment, can hope to ar- 
rive at immediate perfection : the gradations of art are 
always laborious. The theory and idiom of the language 
must be first attained ; for who can express his ideas by 
words, the relative dependency of which he has not as- 
certained ? The habit of considering various subjects, and 
of arranging the thoughts which they suggest, is the next 

c 



26 

step : and the acquisition of a clear and elegant habit of 
expression is the last requisite for just and graceful com- 
position. 

The first of these qualifications may be obtained by dili- 
gent application to the rules of grammar : the second, by 
frequent exercise : and the last, by careful perusal of the 
best authors. 

These suggestions may seem of little value in the ini- 
tiation of youth. But to those of more mature years, who 
may feel the propriety of consulting this work, the observ- 
ations will not be useless. Instructors know, also, that 
books are seldom employed by youth but from necessity ; 
and all that the author of such a publication as this, can 
hope to do for young persons, is to point out to teachers 
some mode by which the improvement of the pupils may 
be facilitated. 

If, when a subject is proposed to a student, it were to 
be accompanied by the question to him a " What do you 
understand by the subject given to you ?" his answer 
would form the definition, or first part of the theme. If 
" temperance" were the proposition, the pupil's percep- 
tion of it might be, " the restraint of passion." 

That young persons may not be precipitated into the 
arrangement of their own confused ideas, the plan of this 
work requires that they should be familiarised in the prac- 
tice of defining whatever is offered to their attention. It 
is probable that such a habit may be of use to them, in 
many future concerns of life. Besides, scarcely any thing 



27 

can be more evident, than the absurdity of expecting a 
good essay upon a subject which the writer does not 
clearly understand. 

When the student is capable of making further progress, 
his own definition may be returned to him, with another 
question, " What opinion do you entertain upon the sub- 
ject ?" If it were " temperance," which it has been as- 
sumed he would define to be " the restraint of passion," 
his answer to the second question would perhaps be, 
" that it leads to happiness." This answer would, in 
technical language, be termed the judgment. 

If the pupil have been familiarised with the former 
question, he will have little difficulty with this one ; and 
may therefore, with less delay, be forwarded to the third 
part of the work. 

It is hardly necessary to observe, that the respective 
answers of the students should be made in writing : and 
that as they advance* the same questions which had been 
proposed to them in the first and second stages of their 
progress, should be continued in the third. 

The only remaining question to be given to the scholar 
will be put when his definition and opinion are returned 
to him; it is this: " What are the reasons which have 
induced you to form that opinion ?" To this question he 
may be imagined to answer, " that as uncontrolled pas- 
" sions lead us to wickedness and turbulence, so temper- 
" ance conducts us to worth and tranquillity : that even 
" in worldly affairs, it is found to be a guide to health and 

c 2 



28 

" riches for it forbids indulgence in enervating luxuries? 
" and inculcates ceconomy in all the departments of life. 
" That it has been so generally esteemed, as to rank as 
" a virtue in every system of morality ; and that reason 
" and observation bear testimony, that it is a quality 
" essential to good conduct and happiness." 

If the judgment he had formed of temperance were now 
to be placed at the end of this answer, and thus to appear 
as the result of the arguments or considerations from 
which it is presumed to have proceeded, there would be 
a perfect theme. 

In the present edition, however, I have not concluded 
here ; but have added, in the fourth part, some rules by 
which I hope the student may be enabled to discover what 
were the considerations which passed through his mind 
between the definition and judgment — but which his 
inexperience in the art of thinking had been unable to col- 
lect. Every one who has attended to the progress of 
youthful thought must have observed, how frequently a 
young mind will form a just conclusion, and yet be 
unable to explain the principle upon which it has pro- 
ceeded. A boy will confidently pronounce honour to be 
indispensable to a respectable character ; and his assertion 
will have arisen not from the mere authority of others, 
but from reflections which have passed through his own 
mind. Yet when required to support his opinion by argu- 
ment, he will be able to communicate scarcely a single idea. 
Now if he had been taught that on such occasions, he 



29 

should think of a man who is eminently endowed with this 
quality, and see in what respect he differs from other men ; 
or if he had been taught to think of a man who is void of 
this endowment, and to mark in what respect he also dif- 
fers from others, the boy would have no difficulty to ex- 
plain himself; he would state these distinctions, and 
scarcely any other argument would be wanting. 

Comparison and contrast are indeed the chief opera- 
tions of the mind in every species of investigation, and 
if gently inculcated into those who are commencing the 
art of arranging their thoughts, it does not seem extrava- 
gant to believe that they will produce the most useful 
effects. 

I have also introduced another exercise toward acceler- 
ating the progress of students in the art of composition : 
it is that of analyzing short essays, and selecting the defi- 
nitions, judgments, and arrangements. The utility of 
such a practice needs little illustration. But to make this 
part of the discipline perfectly intelligible and somewhat 
more easy, I have given examples of its practice. 

With respect to the embellishment of similes and au- 
thorities, they are not indispensable to any common spe- 
cies of composition. They are not always to be found 
without difficulty, and seldom without some portion of 
genius and information : when they are obtained, they re- 
quire to be introduced with considerable care. Is it ne- 
cessary to make a boy attempt all this ? If he ever should 
have a taste for good authors, and a genius for elegant 

c 3 



30 

writing, these things will come of themselves in due 
time. 

I subscribe to the well known opinion of Quintilian, 
that youthful fervour should be cherished, rather than 
repressed. The efforts of juvenile fancy hold out the 
promise of future talent ; they are proofs also of a boy's 
desire to do his best ; and such a desire should be encou- 
raged. 

But it does not follow that there is any prudence in 
teaching youth, that a simile is a necessary part of a com- 
position, which consists altogether only of a few lines. If 
the style of Mr. Addison be a just criterion, chastity is 
preferable to luxuriance. 

Rules for writing with elegance are numerous ; but few 
of them are reducible to practice. The careful reading 
of approved authors, and cautious attempts at imitation, 
afford, I believe, the best instructions. Dr. Blair on 
Rhetoric is a work which should be read by all persons 
who desire to understand the use of figures. Mr. Lindley 
Murray may also be safely consulted, not only on the mere 
grammatical dependency of words, but also on the means 
of attaining perspicuity and elegance in writing. 

The object -of this work is to point out the mode by 
which the art of arranging ideas may be easily obtained, 
That elegance in the practice of this art may be inculcated 
at the same time, the choicest examples have been se- 
lected for the imitation of students : and surely these must 
be equivalent to a host of rules. I have also introduced 



31 

some passages at the end of the work, which could not 
be used as models of themes. I had two objects in doing 
so ; one was, that students may have specimens of the 
style which celebrated writers have employed under such 
circumstances as a theme could not include ; the other 
was, that the volume may be used as a reading book, as 
well as for its professed purpose. After all that can be 
written on the subject of this treatise, a great deal must 
be left to the skill and discretion of teachers. And if 
this work shall be of use to instructors or students, the 
author will obtain the gratification of which he is de- 
sirous. 



c 4 



32 



PART THE FIRST. 



DEFINITIONS. 

#*# JL he teacher is again reminded, that he should 
ask the "pupil what he understands by the subject pro* 
posed to him : for instance, if " procrastination" be 
given to him, the definition under it will be an answer to 
the question. 

But for the better assistance of the students and in» 
structors, I will here add some instructions of Dr. Watts 
for obtaining a definition. Indeed the whole of that 
great and good man's treatise on logic and the improve- 
ment of the mind, should be given and explained to youth, 
as soon as the mind is capable of comprehending them. 
The trouble of the parent or teacher will be amply re- 
compensed, by the improvement of the young heart and 
understanding. Scarcely any works are more likely to 
make those who study them truly good and " wise even 
unto salvation." 

- " First, compare the thing to be defined with other 
things that are most like to itself, and see wherein its 



33 

essence or nature agrees with them ; and this is called 
the general nature or genus in a definition : so if you 
would define what wine is, first compare it with other 
things like itself, as cyder, perry, &c. and you will find 
it agrees essentially with them in this, that it is a sort of 
juice. 

" Secondly, consider the most remarkable and primary 
attribute, property, or idea wherein this thing differs 
from those other things that are most like it ; and that 
is its essential or specific difference : so wine differs from 
cyder and perry, and all other juices, in that it is pressed 
from the grape. This may be called its special nature, 
which distinguishes it from other juices. 

" Thirdly, join the general and special nature together, 
or (which is all one) the genus and the difference, and 
these make up a definition. So the juice of the grape, or 
juice pressed from grapes, is the definition of wine. 

" So if I would define what winter is, I consider first 
wherein it agrees with other things which are most like 
it, (viz.) summer, spring, autumn, and I find they are 
all seasons of the year ; therefore a season of the year is 
the genus. Then I observe wherein it differs from these, 
and that it is in the shortness of the days ; for it is this 
which does primarily distinguish it from all other seasons ; 
therefore this may be called its special nature, or its 
difference. Then, by joining these together I make a 
definition. Winter is that season of the year wherein 
the days are shortest. I confess, indeed, this is but a 

c 5 



34 

rude definition of it ; for to define it, as an accurate as- 
tronomer, I must limit the days, hours, and minutes. 

" After the same manner, if we would explain or define 
what the picture of a man is, we consider first the genus 
or general nature of it, which is a representation ; and 
herein it agrees with many other things, as a statue, a 
shadow, a print, a verbal description of a man, &c. 
TIi en we consider wherein it differs from these, and we 
find it differs from a verbal description in that it is a re- 
presentation to the eye, and not to the ear : it differs 
from a statue in that it is a representation upon a flat 
surface, and not in a solid figure : it differs from a sha- 
dow, in that it is an abiding representation, and not a 
fleeting one : it differs from a print or draught, because 
it represents the colours by paint as well as the shape of 
the object by delineation. Now so many or rather so 
few of these ideas put together, as are just sufficient to 
distinguish a picture from all other representations, 
make up its essential difference or its special nature ; and 
all these are included in its being painted on a plain sur- 
face. Then join this to the genus, which is a represent- 
ation ; and thus you have the complete definition of the 
picture of a man, (viz.) it is the representation of a man 
in paint upon a surface (or a plane)." 

It ought, however, to be understood and remembered, 
that there are many subjects which do not admit of de- 
finition. Among them are such as vary in their circum- 
stances, and those which are particular instances of any 
eneral quality or subject. The word " circumstance," 



35 

for instance, could not conveniently be denned ; because 
every real circumstance has its own peculiarities. It is true 
that in metaphysical investigation a definition would be 
found for every general, or common substantive ; but for 
the general purposes of literary composition, it would be 
found almost impracticable and certainly useless. The 
word garden may be denned, but no definition could be 
given of " Kew garden ;" because it is a particular ex- 
ample of garden in general, and the statement of its pecu- 
liarities wculd form, not a definition, but a description. 

It should be added that the definition will not always 
be found at the commencement of each example ; be- 
cause those who are accustomed to composition, can be- 
gin with an appropriate and pleasing introduction ; and it 
sometimes will be found in a different succession of words, 
and sometimes even with a slight alteration of phrase; but 
the definition will always be found in it in a distinguishable 
form. This mode, however, of interweaving the definition 
into the general composition, ought not to be attempted 
by early students. Their advancement in the art will be 
best consulted by keeping all the parts distinct. 

PROCRASTINATION. 

Definition, The delaying of that which we know cannot 
be finally escaped. 

FLATTERY. 

Def. False praise. 

INDUSTRY. 

Defi The instrument of improvement. 

c 6 



36 

TIME. 

Def. The succession of day and night. 

TEMPERANCE. 

Def The restraint of passion. 

RESENTMENT. 

Def The union of anger and revenge. 

PIETY. 

Def Reverence of God. 

ANGER. 

Def Pride heightened to passion. 

POETRY. 

Def An association of exalted and brilliant ideas, in lan- 
guage harmoniously arranged. 

PROVIDENCE. 

Def Supreme interposition for the relief of man. 

ENVY. 

Def Malice excited by the attempt of another to excel* 

VIRTUE. 

Def The foundation of honour and esteem. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

Def A general coincident feeling between two persons. 

THE VICE OF LYING. 

Def The offspring of folly, meanness, and wickedness. 

CLEANLINESS. 

Def A habit which may be defined to be the emblem of 
purity of mind. 

SLOTH. 

Def Habitual inactivity of mind and body. 



37 

RELIGIOUS INTOLERANCE. 

Def. A disposition amongst religious parties and sects, 
arising from an opinion of their own infallibility. 

CHARITY. 

Def The practical display of solicitude for others. 

YOUTH AND AGE. 

Def. Life in prospect ; and life in retrospect. 

PRAISE AND THANKSGIVING. 

Def. The discovery and acknowledgment of infinite per- 
fection, 

COMMON HONESTY. 

Def The habitual practice of moral virtue. 

MODESTY AND ASSURANCE. 

Def The reflection of an ingenuous mind, upon its own 
censurable conduct : and of saying and doing indiffe- 
rent things without emotion. 

CONTENTMENT. 

Def. That state of mind in which the agitations of anxiety 
and disappointment are no longer felt. 

COURAGE. 

Def. That state of mind which suffers no dismay amidst 
danger. 

HOPE. 

Def. The anticipation of good. 

DEATH. 

Def The dissolution of corporal existence. 

EARLY IMPROVEMENT. 

Def The acquirement of rational satisfaction in the be- 
ginning of life. 



PERSEVERANCE. 

Def. The resolution to persist in that which has been 
undertaken. 

CONSCIENCE. 

Def The delegate of an invisible ruler. 

LITERARY EDUCATION. 

Def. The endowment of the mind with the wisdom of 
preceding ages. 

THE VARIETY OF NATURE. 

Def. The offspring of order. 

NIGHT. 

Def The hours after sunset. 

GOOD DISPOSITIONS. 

Def. Justice, equity, truth, sincerity, candour, bene- 
ficence and mercy. 

GOD. 

Def A being every where present. 

GOOD HUMOUR. 

Def. A habit of being pleased. 

TRUTH. 

Def The union of appearance and reality. 

THE PERSIAN LANGUAGE. 

Def. A language, rich, melodious, and elegant : spoken for 
many ages by the greatest princes in the politest courts 
of Asia ; and in which a number of admirable works 
have been written by historians, philosophers and poets. 

GOOD PRINCIPLES IN EARLY LIFE. 

Def A full conviction in youth of the obligations of 
morality and religion. 



39 



The author begs to submit the following subjects which 
may be given to students, for practice, according to the 
rules contained in this work. He has also arranged them 
in such manner that pupils may proceed gradually through 
various forms of discussion, according to their respective 
experience and skill. 

SIMPLE SUBJECTS. 

Justice. Slander. Affectation. Pleasure. 

Adversity. Mercy. Loquacity. Gaming, 

Pride. Wealth. Wisdom. Religion. 

Compassion. Prudence. Luxury. Study. 

Avarice. Gratitude. Health. Experience. 

SIMPLE SUBJECTS AND THEIR CONTRASTS. 

Peace and War. 
• Want and Plenty. 

Ignorance and Learning. 
Happiness and Misery. 
Virtue and Vice. 
Parsimony and Prodigality. 
Hope and Fear. 
Reward and Punishment. 
Beauty and Deformity. 
Affection and Hatred. 
Arrogance and Humility. 
Order and Confusion. 
Carelessness and Caution. 
Contentment and Dissatisfaction. 
Emulation and Sloth. 



40 

According to a very common acceptation of themes, I 
should now introduce propositions for the discussion of 
students. Thus many of the publications on themes speak 
of no other subjects for this exercise than those of general 
and acknowledged positions, which the pupil is to amplify 
and illustrate. " Death is common to all mankind,'* is of 
this description. I have two objections to this sort of 
practice : first its difficulty ; and secondly the tendency it 
must have to give to young minds an incorrect habit of 
thinking. * 

The difficulty is indeed sufficiently apparent without 
much examination ; because the proposition is evidently a 
judgment or conclusion which has already been obtained, 
from considerations to which the student has been no party. 
The youthful mind when employed in the discussion of 
such a subject, must therefore reason backward, or as lo- 
gicians say, a posteriori, to discover the arguments upon 
which other minds have arrived at the proposition before 
him. It is true that such sentences are generally an asser- 
tion, which even the infant mind recognizes and knows 
to be indubitable. But this certainty creates a real diffi- 
culty : it seems absurd to youthful intellect to prove what 
no one has doubted, and the pupil therefore foregoes any 
exercise of reason ; but as he must write something, he puts 
down whatever comes into his head, that in any manner 
appears to be related to the subject. But besides these 
considerations, may it not reasonably be enquired, whe- 
ther the mind which has been accustomed to take propo- 
sitions for granted, will not be in danger of acquiring habits 



41 

of credulity, inactivity of thought, or precipitancy in judg- 
ment ? If we compare the probable effect of proceeding 
by connected argument from the consideration of simple 
subjects, to some clear result which that consideration 
has produced ; with the habit of accepting without hesit- 
ation the conclusion of others, and amplifying or illu% 
trating that conclusion; can there be a doubt which, 
practice is the more likely to be useful, and which may 
be the more reasonably expected to produce a correct 
mode of thinking ? 

Besides which, the true mode of discussing a proposi- 
tion is by first defining the subject of the proposition; 
and afterwards of shewing that, of the subject thus de- 
fined, the proposition truly states its quality or effect. In 
truth, a proposition is nothing mere than 2 jsdgJSSSt 
formed upon some subject ; the truth of which judgment 
can be demonstrated only by reasoning from the subject, 
to the judgment itself. 



¥2 



PART THE SECOND. 



DEFINITIONS AND JUDGMENTS. 



. *. 



*"* In this stage of the pupil's progress, the teacher 
will probably find it of advantage, to give the student 
the subjects in the order in which he received them in 
the foregoing part of the work, together with the defini- 
mG^:, IZt l± l£S Z±Zt epi^a he entertains of ^ch 
subject. Thus of " procrastination," which has been 
defined to be, " the delaying that which we know can- 
" not be finally escaped," the opinion or judgment is 
hereunder given in these words : " every man ought to be 
" awakened to the active prosecution of whatever he is 
" desirous to perform." This judgment is an answer to 
the question, which it is advised to propose to the pupil 
in this place. 

In order to assist the student in this part of his inves- 
tigation, it should be suggested that the judgment he has 
to give, should be some clear and comprehensive opinion 
of the subject under consideration ; the truth of which 
opinion he is enabled to demonstrate. 



43 

PROCRASTI NATION. 

Def. The delaying that which we know cannot be finally 

escaped. 
Judg. Every man ought to be awakened to the active 

prosecution of whatever he is desirous to perform. 

FLATTERY. 

Def. False praise. 

Judg. The proverbial admonition " beware of flattery," 
is applicable to every age and rank of life. 
industry. 

Def. The instrument of improvement. 

Judg. No affluence of fortune, or elevation of rank, ex- 
empts the possessor from the duties of application and 
industry. 

TIME. 
Def. The succession of day and night. 
Judg. Let him who seeks his own happiness reflect, that 
the day rolls on, and the " night comes, when no man 
" can work." 

temperance. 
Def. The restraint of passion. 
Judg. It leads to bliss. 

resentment. 
Def The union of anger and revenge. 
Judg. It is necessary to habituate ourselves to useful re- 
flections, till they mitigate the paroxysms of our anger 
at the time, and at length produce an alteration in 
the temper and disposition itself. 



44 

PIETY. 

Def. Reverence of God. 

Judg. It connects preparation for heaven, with an honor- 
able discharge of the duties of active life. 

ANGER. 

Def. Pride heightened to passion. 
Judg. A passionate man spends his time in outrage and 
acknowledgment, in injury and reparation. 

POETRY. 

Def. An association of exalted and brilliant ideas, in lan- 
guage harmoniously arranged. 

Judg. It must be esteemed one of the most fortunate 
endowments with which the human mind can be in- 
vested. 

PROVIDENCE. 

Def. Supreme interposition for the relief of man. 
Judg. At all times a benevolent God has been the friend 
and the protector of human life. 

ENVY. 

Def. Malice excited by the attempt of another to excel. 

Judg. To avoid depravity like this, it is not necessary 
that any one should aspire to heroism or sanctity ; but 
only that he should resolve not to quit the rank which 
nature assigns, and wish to maintain the dignity of a 
human being. 

VIRTUE. 

Def. The foundation of honour and esteem. 



45 

Judg. One virtuous disposition of soul, is preferable to 
the greatest natural accomplishments and abilities. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

Def. A general coincident feeling between two persons. 

Judg. It should be the care of every person to be faithful 
in a well-formed attachment, but never to be precipi- 
tate in selecting a friend. 

THE VICE OF LYING. 

Def. The offspring of folly, meanness, and wickedness. 
Judg. Truth is the greatest bond of society. 

CLEANLINESS. 

Def. A habit which may be defined to be the emblem 

of purity of mind. 
Judg. Pure and unsullied thoughts are usually suggested 

by objects beautiful and elegant. 

SLOTH. 

Def. Habitual inactivity of mind and body. 
Judg. If the faculties be not polished with using, they 
will become incrusted with the rust of indolence. 

RELIGIOUS INTOLERANCE. 

Def. A disposition among religious parties and sects, 

arising from an opinion of their own infallibility. 
Judg. Men ought not lightly to condemn each other. 

CHARITY. 

Def. The practical display of solicitude for others. 
Judg. It " opens in each heart a little heaven." 

v YOUTH AND AGE. 

Def. Life in prospect ; and life in retrospect. 



46 

Judg. The true medium, under which life is seen, is at 
the middle station. 

PRAISE AND THANKSGIVING. 

Def. The discovery and acknowledgment of infinite per- 
fection. 

Judg. We can repay the universal benefactor only by 
praise and thanksgiving. 

COMMON HONESTY. 

Def. The habitual practice of moral virtue. 
Judg. If it could be introduced into all the employments 
of life the golden age would be restored. 

MODESTY AND ASSURANCE. 

Def. Modesty is the reflection of an ingenuous mind, upon 
its own censurable conduct. Assurance is the faculty 
of saying and doing indifferent things without emotion. 

Judg. Modesty and assurance are both amiable qualities, 
and may very well meet in the same person. 

CONTENTMENT. 

Def. That state of mind in which the agitations of anxiety 

and disappointment are no longer felt. 
Judg. After we have overcome the imaginary obstacles 

to our repose of mind, we still find some fresh source 

of discontent. 

COURAGE. 

Def. That state of mind which suffers no dismay from 

danger. 
Judg, It may be employed either as a most useful, or as 

a most disgraceful qualification. 



47 

HOPE. 

Def. The anticipation of good. 

Judg. It carries us forward through life ; and guides us 
at last to a halcyon haven. 

DEATH. 

Def The dissolution of corporal existence. 
Judg, There is an indispensable necessity upon all man- 
kind to be prepared for it by virtuous and pious living. 

EARLY IMPROVEMENT. 

Def. The acquirement of rational satisfaction in the be- 
ginning of life. 

Judg. A soul without rational satisfaction, darkens and 
discolours every object. 

PERSEVERANCE. 

Def. The resolution to persist in any undertaking which 
has been commenced. 

Judg. It not only goes far to ensure success ; but also 
obtains honour for those, who although the least fortu- 
nate, have been the most diligent. 

CONSCIENCE. 

Def. The delegate of an invisible ruler. 

Judg. When an awakened conscience places before the 
sinner the just vengeance of the Almighty, the prospect 
is confounding. ^ 

THE ADVANTAGES ARISING FROM LITERARY EDU- 
CATION. 

Def. The endowment of the mind with the wisdom of 
preceding ages. 



48 

Judg. Poets, orators, historians, and philosophers, all 
the great masters of thinking and writing, become in- 
corporated with the mental energies of him, who has 
obtained by education the keys of knowledge. 

THE VARIETY OF NATURE. 

Def. The offspring of order. 

Judg. The three comprehensive divisions under which all 

the bodies which belong to this earth are commonly 

arranged, are animals, vegetables, and minerals. 
night. 
Def. The time after sun-set. 
Judg. God draws the curtains of darkness around us ; 

so He makes all things to be hushed and still, that his 

large family may sleep in peace. 

GOOD DISPOSITIONS. 

Def. Justice, equity, truth, sincerity, candour, benefi- 
cence, and mercy. 

Judg. It hath ever been, and it is still in the world, that 
instances are not wanting of constancy, of friendship, 
of fidelity, of gratitude, of compassion, of integrity. 

GOD. 

Def. A being every where present. 

Judg. If we walk with God in all his ways, as he walks 
with us in all ours, we shall find perpetual reasons to 
enable us to keep that rule, " Rejoice in the Lord 
always." 

GOOD HUMOUR. 

Def. A habit of being pleased.. 



49 

Judg. Good humour boasts no faculties which every one 
does not believe in his own power, and pleases prin- 
cipally by not offending. 

TRUTH. 

Def. The union of appearance and reality. 

Judg. When a man has once forfeited the reputation of 

his integrity, he is set fast; and nothing will then serve 

his turn, neither truth nor falsehood. 

THE PERSIAN LANGUAGE. 

Def. A language rich, melodious, and elegant: spoken 
for many ages by the greatest princes in the politest 
courts of Asia, and in which a number of admirable 
works have been written by historians, philosophers, 
and poets. 

Judg. It cannot fail of delighting those who love to view 
the great picture of the universe, or to, learn by what 
degrees the most obscure states have risen to glory, and 
the most flourishing kingdoms have sunk to decay. The 
philosopher will consider these w^orks it contains, as 
highly valuable, by which he may trace the human 
mind in all its appearances, from the rudest to the most 
cultivated state: and the man of taste will undoubtedly 
be pleased to unlock the stores of native genius, and 
to gather the flowers of unrestrained and luxuriant 
fancy. 

GOOD PRINCIPLES IN EARLY LIFE. 

Def, A full conviction in youth of the obligations of 
morality and religion. 



so 



Judg* He who has adopted them, will go on his way 
rejoicing ; and will experience the path of the just, to 
be M as the shining light, which shineth more and more 
unto the perfect day/' 






51 



PART THE THIRD. 



DEFINITIONS, JUDGMENTS, AND ARGUMENTS, 

** # X he pupil having acquired the art of explaining of 
defining the subjects proposed to him ; and of forming 
and expressing his opinion or judgment of them ; he will 
now be asked, " what are the reasons which induced him 
to form that judgment ?" Those reasons, when written 
between the definition and the judgment, will complete 
the theme. 

In the following examples, the instructor will have an 
opportunity of showing that in all the instances which are 
adduced, these three constituents are to be found : but 
that the definition and judgment are frequently blended 
with the arguments to conceal the mechanical structure 
of the composition. The elegancies of thought and lan- 
guage, the teacher can more readily and clearly point out, 
than any rules can be expected to do. To discriminate 
the energy and the order of argumentation, and to suggest 

d 2 



52 

the peculiarities of style, must be done by oral tuition* 
The attempt to do so by specific rules, would only swell 
the book with precepts, which could not assist tutors, and 
would be useless to those, who, persevering to obtain ele- 
gance and facility of composition, devote their attention 
to good models of writing. 

ON PROCRASTINATION. 

The folly of allowing ourselves to delay tvhat we knotv 
cannot be finally escaped, is one of the general weaknesses 
which prevail to a greater or less degree in almost every 
mind. 

It is, indeed, natural to have particular regard to the 
time present, and to be most solicitous for that which is, 
by its nearness, enabled to make the strongest impres- 
sions. When, therefore, any sharp pain is to be suffered, 
or any formidable danger to be incurred, we can scarcely 
exempt ourselves wholly from the seducement of imagin- 
ation ; we readily believe that another day will bring some 
support or advantage which we now want ; and are easily 
persuaded, that the moment of necessity, which we desire 
never to arrive, is at a great distance from us. 

When evils cannot be avoided, it is wise to contract the 
interval of expectation ; to meet the mischiefs which will 
overtake us if we fly ; and suffer only their real malig- 
nity, without the conflicts of doubt, and anguish of an- 
ticipation. 

To act is far easier than to suffer ; yet we every day 
see the progress of life retarded by the mere repugnance 
U 



53 

to exertion, and find multitudes repining at the want of 
that which nothing but idleness hinders them from enjoy- 
ing. Laziness is commonly associated with timidity. 
Either fear originally prohibits endeavours, by infusing 
despair of success ; or the frequent failure of irresolute 
struggles, and the constant desire of avoiding labour, im- 
press by degrees false terrors on the mind. 

Among all who sacrifice future advantage to present 
inclination, scarcely any gain so little as those that suffer 
themselves to freeze in idleness. Others are corrupted by 
some enjoyment of more or less power to gratify the pas- 
sions ; but to neglect our duties, merely to avoid the la- 
bour of performing them (a labour which is always punc- 
tually rewarded) is surely to sink under weak temptations. 
Idleness never can secure tranquillity ; the call of reason 
and of conscience will pierce the closest pavilion of the 
sluggard ; and, though it may not have force to drive him 
from his down, will be loud enough to hinder him from 
sleep. Those moments which he cannot resolve to make 
useful by devoting them to the great business of his 
being, will still be usurped by powers that will not leave 
them to his disposal ; remorse and vexation will seize 
upon them, and forbid him to enjoy what he is so desirous 
to appropriate. 

The certainty that life cannot be long, ought to awaken 
every man to the active 'prosecution of whatever he is desi- 
rous to perform. It is true that death may intercept the 
swiftest career; but he who is cut off in the execution of 

d 3 



54 

an honest undertaking, has at least the honour of falling 
in his rank, and has fought the battle, though he missed 
the victory. Johnson. 

FLATTERY. 

Flattery \s false praise: and is either offered to those by 
whom it is altogether unmerited ; or is given to an extent 
beyond that which truth can authorise. In either case, 
reprehension is due to those by whom it is administered, 
and contempt to those by whom it is received. 

Interest is generally the motive of a flatterer, and weak- 
ness is the most charitable opinion which can be enter- 
tained of that mind, by whom the sycophant is encouraged 
or endured. In the former there is a wanton violation of 
truth which can hardly be practised without some incen- 
tive : in the latter there is a foolish self-partiality which 
is ready to accept the glitter of undeserved applause. 

The mischief of flattery falls on the individual by whom 
it is received ; who, like the unwary Indian, heedlessly 
reposes on the verdure beneath which the reptile lies 
concealed. It retards improvement, paralyzes emulation, 
and extinguishes every motive toward laudable exertion. 

To youth, therefore, it is particularly dangerous ; and 
the proverbial admonition " beware of flattery," although 
applicable to every age and rank of life, is more particu-* 
larly suitable to those who are entering on the scenes of 
the world, and should hope to gain the praise of the vir- 
tuous and wise only by good conduct and real excellence. 

Ri?pinghajvu 



55 

INDUSTRY. 

Industry is not only the instrument of improvement, but 
the foundation of pleasure; for nothing is so opposite to 
the true enjoyment of life, as the relaxed and feeble state 
of an indolent mind. 

He who is a stranger to industry may possess, but he 
cannot enjoy. It is labour only that gives a relish to plea- 
sure. It is the indispensable condition of our possessing 
a sound mind in a sound body. Idleness is so inconsistent 
with both, that it is hard to determine whether it be a 
greater foe to virtue, or to health and happiness. Inactive 
as it is in itself, its effects are fatally powerful. Though it 
appears a slow flowing stream, yet it undermines all that 
is stable and flourishing. It is like water, which first 
putrifies by stagnation, and then sends up noxious -vapours 
filling the atmosphere with death. 

No affluence of fortune, or elevation of rank, exempts the 
possessor from the duties of application and industry: for 
industry is the law of our being i it is the demand of na- 
ture, of reason, and of God. Flee therefore from idleness, 
as the certain parent both of guilt and ruin. And under 
idleness may be included not merely inaction, but all that 
circle of trifling and frivolous occupations, in which too 
many saunter away their youth. Youth requires amuse- 
ments : it would be vain, it would be cruel, to prohibit 
them. But though allowable as the relaxation, they are 
highly culpable as the business of the young : for they then 
become the gulph of time, and the poison of the mind : 

d 4* 



56 

they foment bad passions, they weaken the manly powers, 
and sink the native vigour of youth into contemptible 
effeminacy. Hugh Blair. 

time. 

The day and the night succeed each other ; the rotation 
of seasons diversifies the year ; the sun rises, attains the 
meridian, declines and sets ; and the moon every night 
changes its form. 

If the wheel of life, which rolls thus silently along, 
pass on through undistinguishable uniformity , we should 
never mark its approaches to the end of its course. If one 
hour were like another, if the passage of the sun did not 
show that the day is wasting, if the change of seasons did 
not impress upon us the flight of the year, if the parts of 
time were not variously coloured, we should never discern 
their departure or succession, but should live thoughtless 
of the past and careless of the future, — without will, and 
perhaps without power, to compute the periods of life, or 
to compare the time which is already lost with that which 
may probably remain. But the course of time is so visi- 
bly marked, that it is even observed by nations who have 
raised their minds very little above animal instinct : there 
are human beings whose language does not supply them 
with words by which they can number five ; but we know 
of none who have not names for day and night> for sum- 
mer and winter. 

Yet these admonitions of nature, however forcible* how- 



57 

ever importunate, are too often vain ; and many who 
mark with accuracy the lapse of time, appear to have little 
sensibility of the decline of life. Every man has something 
to do, which he procrastinates; every man has faults to 
conquer which he delays to combat. From this inatten- 
tion, so general and so mischievous, let it be every man's 
study to exempt himself. Let him who desires to see 
others happy, make haste to give while his gift can be en- 
joyed ; and let him who seeks his own happiness, reflect 
that while he forms his purpose the day rolls on, and the 
4i night comes when no man can work J' 

Johnson, 
temperance* 

Temperance may be defined to be the restraint of pas- 
uon. That it is a quality essential to good conduct and 
happiness, reason and observation bear ample testimony. 
So highly indeed has it always been esteemed, that it ranks 
as a virtue in every system of morality. For as uncon- 
trolled passions lead us to wickedness and turbulence ; so 
temperance conducts us to worth and tranquillity. Even in 
worldly affairs it is found to be a guide to health and 
riches ; for it forbids indulgence in enervating luxuries, 
and inculcates economy in all the departments of life. 

Its best recommendation is to be found in its effects ; 
and no one who is convinced that temperance leads to bliss, 
can hesitate on adhering to it through life. 

Rippingham. 



D 5 



SB 

RESENTMENT. 

Resentment may be distinguished into anger and revenge. 
Anger is the pain we suffer upon the receipt of an injury 
or affront, with the usual effects of that pain upon our- 
selves. Revenge is the inflicting of pain upon the person 
who has injured or offended us, further than the just ends 
of punishment or reparation require. 

Reflections proper for this purpose are the following : 
the possibility of mistaking the motives from which the con- 
duct that offends us proceeds ; how often our own offences 
have been the effect of inadvertence, when they were con- 
strued into indications of malice; the inducement which 
prompted our adversary to act as he did, and how power- 
fully the same inducement has at one time or other oper- 
ated upon ourselves ; that he is suffering perhaps under a 
contrition which he is ashamed or wants opportunity to 
confess ; and how ungenerous it is to triumph, by coldness 
or insult, over a spirit already humbled in secret ; that the 
returns of kindness are sweet, and that there is neither 
honour nor virtue, nor utility in resisting them. To this we 
should particularly advert ; for too many think themselves 
bound to keep alive their indignation, when they find it 
dying away of itself. 

We should remember, that others have their passions, 
their prejudices, their favourite aims, their fears, their 
^cautions, their interests, their sudden impulses, and their 
varieties of apprehensions, as well as ourselves. We may 



59 

recollect what has sometimes passed in our minds, when 
we have been on the wrong side of a quarrel ; and imagine 
the same to be passing in our adversary's mind now : when 
we became sensible of our misbehaviour, what palliations 
we perceived in it, and expected others to perceive ; how 
we were affected by the kindness, and felt the superiority, 
of a generous reception and ready forgiveness ; how perse- 
cution revived our Spirit with our enmity, and seemed to 
justify that conduct in ourselves which we before blamed. 

Add to this the indecency of anger ; how it renders us, 
while it lasts, the scorn and sport of all about us : the in- 
conveniencies and irretrievable misconduct, into which 
our irascibility has sometimes betrayed us ; the friendship 
it has lost us ; and the sore repentance, which, on one ac- 
count or other, it always costs us, 

It is necessary, therefore, to habituate ourselves to these 
reflections, till they arise spontaneously in our minds when 
they are wanted, that is, instantly upon the receipt of an 
injury or affront; and with such force and colouring, as 
both to mitigate the paroxysms of our anger at the time> 
and at length to produce an alteration in the temper and 
disposition itself. Paley. 

piety. 

Reverence of God is the foundation of good morals, and 
a disposition particularly graceful and becoming in youth. 
To be void of it argues a cold heart, destitute of some of 
the best affections which belong to that age. Youth is the 
season of warm and generous emotions, The heart should 

d 6 



60 

ihen spontaneously rise in the admiration of what is great, 
glow with the love of what is fair and excellent, and melt 
at the discovery of tenderness and goodness. 

Where can any object be found so proper to kindle these 
affections, as the Father of the Universe and the Author of 
all felicity? Unmoved by veneration, can you contemplate 
that grandeur and majesty which his works every where 
display? Untouched by gratitude, can you view that pro- 
fusion of good, which, in this pleasing season of life, his 
beneficent hand pours around you? Happy in the love 
and affection of those with whom you are connected, look 
up to the Supreme Being as the inspirer of all the friendship 
that has ever been shown you by others ; himself your best 
and first friend: formerly the support of your infancy and 
the guide of your childhood ; now the guardian of your 
youth, and the hope of your coming years. View religious 
homage as a natural expression of gratitude to him for all 
his goodness. Consider it as the service of the God of your 
fathers; of him to whom your parents devoted you ; of him 
whom in former ages your ancestors honoured, and by 
whom they are now rewarded and blessed in heaven. 

Impress your mind with reverence for every thing that 
is sacred. Let no wantonness of youthful spirits, no com- 
pliance with the intemperate mirth of others, ever betray 
you into profane sallies. Beside the guilt which is thereby 
incurred, nothing gives a more odious appearance of petu- 
lance and presumption to youth, than the affectation of 
treating religion with levity. Instead of being an evidence 



61 

of superior understanding, it discovers a pert and shallow 
mind, which, vain of the first smatterings of knowledge, 
presumes to make light of what the rest of mankind 
revere. 

At the same time, you are not to imagine that, when ex- 
horted to be religious, you are called upon to become more 
formal and solemn in your manners than others of the same 
years, or to erect yourselves into supercilious reprovers of 
those around you. The spirit of true religion breathes gen- 
tleness and affability. It gives a native unaffected ease to 
the behaviour. It is social, kind, and cheerful ; far re- 
moved from that gloomy and illiberal superstition, which 
clouds the brow, sharpens the temper, dejects the spirit, 
and teaches men to fit themselves for another world by 
neglecting the concerns of this. It connects preparation 
for heaven tvilh an honourable discharge of the duties of 
active life. Of such religion discover, on every proper 
occasion, that you are not ashamed; but avoid making 
any unnecessary ostentation of it before the world. 

Blair. 

anger. 

Anger is the great disturber of human life : the chief 
enemy both of public happiness and private tranquillity. 

Pride is undoubtedly the origin of anger ; but pride, 
like every other passion, if it once break loose from reason, 
counteracts its own purposes. A passionate man, upon the 
review of his day, will have very few gratifications to offer 



62 

to his pride, when he has considered how his outrages 
were borne, and in what they are likely to end at last. 

These sudden bursts of rage generally break out upon 
small occasions ; for life, unhappy as it is, cannot supply 
great evils as frequently as the man of fire thinks fit to be 
enraged ; therefore reflection upon his violence must show 
him that he is mean enough to be driven from his post by 
every petty incident, that he is the mere slave of casualty, 
and that his reason and virtue are in the power of the 
wind. 

One motive there is of these loud extravagancies, which 
a man is careful to conceal from others, and does not al- 
ways discover to himself. He that finds his knowledge nar- 
row, and his arguments weak, is sometimes in hope of 
gaining that attention by his clamours which he cannot 
otherwise obtain, and is pleased with remembering, that 
at least he made himself heard, that he had the power to 
interrupt those whom he could not confute, and suspend 
the decision which he could not guide. 

But it does not appear that a man can by uproar and 
tumult alter any one's opinion of his understanding, or 
gain influence, except over those whom fortune or nature 
has made his dependents. He may affright his children or 
harass his servants, but the rest of the world will look on 
and laugh ; and he will at length perceive that he lives 
only to raise contempt and hatred, and that he has given 
up the felicity of being loved, without gaining the honour 
of being reverenced. 



63 

When a man has once suffered his mind to be thus viti- 
ated, he becomes one of the most hateful and unhappy of 
beings. He can give no security to himself that he shall 
not at the next interview alienate, by some sudden trans- 
port, his dearest friend; or break out, upon some slight 
contradiction, into such terms of rudeness as can never be 
perfectly forgotten. Whoever converses with him, lives 
with the suspicion and solicitude of a man who plays with 
a tame tiger, always under the necessity of watching the 
moment in which the capricious savage shall begin to 
growl. 

It is related by Prior, of the duke of Dorset, that his 
servants used to put themselves in his way when he was 
angry, because he was sure to recompense them for any 
indignities which he made them suffer. This is the round 
of a passionate man's life ; he contracts debts when he is 
furious, whicH his virtue, if he has any, obliges him to 
discharge at the return of reason. He spends his time in 
outrage and acknowledgment ; in injury and reparation. 

Nothing is more miserable or despicable than the old age 
of a passionate man ; his rage sinks, by decay of strength, 
into habitual peevishness ; the world falls off from around 
him, and he is left to prey upon his own heart in solitude 
and contempt. Johnson, 

poetry. 

Poetry is an effort of genius and art ; producing an 
association of exalted and brilliant ideas, ', in language har- 
moniously arranged. 



64 

The productions of poetical talent have always been re- 
garded with reverence and delight. It is in this region of 
literature that the human mind displays the extent and 
variety of its powers. It gives beauty and energy to pious, 
moral, and heroic sentiments. The works of Homer, 
Virgil, Milton, and still more, the effusions of the sacred 
writers, bear ample testimony of its powers. Poetry gene- 
rally improves with the progress of civilization; and in pro- 
portion to the refinement of manners, even subjects of less 
interest obtain new charms by the embellishments of taste- 
ful composition. But the admiration which is bestowed 
on the fascinations of this endowment, is increased by the 
consideration of its utility : for inasmuch as it engages at- 
tention to subjects deserving of the highest regard, it must 
be esteemed one of the most fortunate endowments with 
which the human mind can be invested. 

4tlPPINGFAM. 
PROVIDENCE. 

Providence interposes for the relief of man, supplying 
his wants in a thousand extraordinary ways. What would 
have become of him in the earliest ages, had he been 
abandoned to his own reason, still unaided by experience? 
Where found he corn, which at this day constitutes a prin- 
cipal part of the food of so many nations ? Who taught 
him agriculture, an art so simple, that the most stupid of 
mankind is capable of learning it ; and yet so sublime, 
that the most intelligent of animals never can pretend to 
practise it ! There is scarcely an animal that supports its 



65 

life by vegetables, which has not daily experience of their 
re-production, and which does not employ, in quest of 
those that suit it, many more combinations than would 
have been necessary for re -sowing them. 

If Providence had abandoned man to himself, on pro- 
ceeding from the hand of the Creator, what would have 
become of him ? Who could have subjected to his au- 
thority so many animals which stood in no need of him y 
which surpassed him in cunning, in speed, in strength ; 
unless the hand which, notwithstanding his fall, destined 
him still to empire, had humbled their heads to obedience 
to his will ? The preservation, the enjoyments, and the 
empire of man demonstrate, that at all times a beneficent 
God has been the friend and protector qf human life. 

St. Pierre, 
envy. 

Envy is almost the only vice which is practicable at alt 
times, and in every place : the only passion which can. 
never lie quiet for want of irritation. Its effects, there- 
fore, are every where discoverable, and its attempts always 
to be dreaded. 

The frequency of envy makes it so familiar, that it 
escapes our notice ; nor do we often reflect upon its tur- 
pitude or malignity, till we happen to feel its influence. 
When he that has given no provocation to malice, but by 
attempting to excel in some useful art, finds himself v pur-* 
sued by multitudes, whom he never saw, with implaca-. 
bility of personal resentment,; when he perceives clamour 



66 

and malice let loose upon him as a public enemy, and in- 
cited by every stratagem of defamation ; when he bears 
the misfortunes of his family, or the follies of his youth, 
exposed to the world ; and every failure of conduct, or de- 
fect of nature, aggravated and ridiculed ; he then learns 
to abhor those artifices, at which he only laughed before; 
and discovers how much the happiness of life would be ad- 
vanced by the eradication of envy from the human heart. 

Envy is, indeed, a stubborn weed of the mind, and sel- 
dom yields to the culture of philosophy. There are, how- 
ever, considerations, which, if carefully implanted and 
diligently propagated, might in time overpower and re- 
press it ; since no one can nurse it for the sake of pleasure, 
as its effects are only shame, anguish, and perturbation. 

It is, above all other vices, inconsistent with the cha- 
racter of a social being, because it sacrifices truth and 
kindness to very weak temptations. He that plunders a 
wealthy neighbour gains as much as he takes away, and 
improves his own condition in the same proportion as he 
impairs another's : but he that blasts a flourishing re- 
putation must be content with a small dividend of addi- 
tional fame ; so small as can afford very little consolation, 
to balance the guilt with which it is obtained. 

It is no slight aggravation of the injuries which envy in- 
cites, that they are committed against those who have given 
no intentional provocation; and that the sufferer is marked 
out for ruin, not because he has failed in any duty, but 
because he has dared to do more than was required. 



67 

Almost every other crime is practised by the help of 
some quality which might have produced esteem or love, 
if it had been well employed : but envy is a more unmixed 
and genuine evil ; it pursues a hateful end by despicable 
means, and desires not so much its own happiness as an- 
other's misery. To avoid depravity like this, it is not ne- 
cessary that any one should aspire to heroism or sanctity ; 
but only that he should resolve not to quit the rank which 
nature assigns, and that he should wish to maintain the dig- 
nity of a human being. Johnson, 
virtue. 

Virtue is the foundation of honour and esteem, and the 
source of all beauty, order, and happiness, in nature. It 
is what confers value on all other endowments and quali- 
ties of a reasonable being ; to which they ought to be 
absolutely subservient ; and without which, the more 
eminent they are, the more hideous deformities and the 
greater curses they become. 

Many of the endowments and talents we now possess, 
and of which we are too apt to be proud, will cease en- 
tirely with the present state ; but virtue will be our orna- 
ment and dignity in every future state to which we may 
be removed. Beauty and wit will die, learning will va- 
nish away, and all the arts of life be soon forgotten ; but 
virtue will remain for ever. This unites us to the whole 
rational creation, and fits us for conversing with any order 
of superior natures, and for a place in any part of God's 
works. 



68 

Virtue procures us the love of all wise and good beings, 
and renders them our allies and friends. But what is of 
unspeakably greater consequence is, that it makes God 
our friend, assimilates and unites our mind to his, and en- 
gages his Almighty power in our defence. 

Superior beings of all ranks are bound by virtue no less 
than ourselves. It has the same authority in all worlds 
that it has in this. The further any being is advanced in 
excellence and perfection, the greater is his attachment 
to it. and the more he is under its influence. It is the law 
of the whole universe ; it stands first in the estimation of 
the Deity ; its origin is His nature ; and it is the very ob- 
ject that makes Him lovely. 

Such is the importance of virtue. Of how much conse- 
quence it is, therefore, to practise it ! There is no argu- 
ment or motive, that is at all fitted to influence a reasonable 
mind, which does not call us to this. One virtuous dispo- 
sition of soul is preferable to the greatest natural accom- 
plishments and abilities, and of more value than all the 
treasures of the world. Price. 

FRIENDSHIP. 

Friendship is a general coincident feeling between two 
persons. As man is a social being, it is no wonder he 
should be disposed to attach himself to that person, whose 
sentiments are most congenial with his own. Such attach- 
ment produces reciprocal kindness ; and kindness begets 
mutual friendship. 



69 

Writers on morality and philosophy abound with enco- 
miums on friendship : and historians as well as poets pre- 
sent the brighest examples of this amiable quality. The 
instances of David and Jonathan, of Damon and Pythias, 
and of Achilles and Patroclus, bear testimony of the ar- 
dent friendship which may exist between persons of the 
same sex ; and to what enthusiasm that attachment is 
sometimes carried. In the common concerns of life, every 
one knows how much he needs the aid and counsel of 
some one in whom he may confide ; and feels how much 
his sorrows are alleviated by the participation of a sincere 
friend. 

But all these considerations of incitement and approba- 
tion toward this amiable disposition, must be accompanied 
by those suggestions of prudence, which inculcate caution 
in the choice of confidants ; and point out the dangers of 
yielding implicit trust in those whose sincerity has not been 
ascertained. To the admonitions of prudence, history 
adds testimony of the many tragical events which have 
followed too easy confidence in pretended friendship. Be 
it therefore the care of every one to be faithful in a well- 
formed attachment ; but never to be precipitate in selecting 
a friend. Rippingham. 

THE VICE OF LYING. 

To warn us from lying we should do well to consider 
the folly, the meanness, and the wickedness of it. 

The folly of lying consists in its defeating its own pur- 
pose. A habit of lying is generally detected in the end; 



70 

arid after detection, the liar, instead of deceiving, will not 
even be believed when he happens to speak the truth. 
Nay, every single lie is attended with such a variety of 
Circumstances which lead to at detection, that it is often 
discovered. The use generally made of a lie is, to cover 
a fault; but as this end is seldom answered, we only aggra- 
vate what we wish to eonceal. In point even of prudence, 
an honest confession would serve us better* 

The meanness of lying arises from the cowardice which 
it implies. We dare not boldly and nobly speak the truth, 
but have recourse to low subterfuges, which always show 
a sordid and disingenuous mind. Hence it is, that in the 
fashionable world the Wdf d liar is always considered as a 
term of peculiar reproach. 

The wickedness of lying consists in its perverting one of 
the greatest blessings of God, the use of speech, in making 
that a mischief to mankind which w&s intended for a be- 
nefit. Truth is the greatest bond of society. If one man lies, 
why may not another ? And if there be no mutual trust, 
there is an end df all intercourse. 

An equivocation is nearly related to a lie. It is an in* 
tention to deceive under words of a double meaning, or 
words which, literally speaking, are true ; and is equally 
criminal with the downright breach of truth. A nod, or 
sign, may convey a lie as effectually as the most deceitful 
language. 

Under the head of lying may be mentioned a breach of 
jprdmise. Every engagement, though only of the lightest 



n 

kind, should be punctually observed ; and he who ddeg 
not think himself bound by such an obligation, has little 
pretension to the character of an honest man* 

Gilpin, 
cleanliness* 

Cleanliness may be defined to be the emblem of purity of 
mind, and may be recommended under the three follow- 
ing heads : as it is a mark of politeness ; as it produces 
affection ; and as it bears analogy td chastity of sentiment. 

First, it is a mark of politeness : for it is universally 
agreed upon, that no one unadorned with this virtue can 
go into company without giving manifest offence. The 
different nations of the world are as much distinguished by 
their cleanliness, as by their arts and sciences. The more 
they advance into civilization, the more they consult this 
part of politeness. 

Secondly, Cleanliness may be said to be the foster-mo- 
ther of affection. Beauty commonly produces love, but 
cleanliness preserves it. Age itself is not unamiable while 
it is preserved clean and unsullied : like a piece of metal 
constantly kept smooth and bright, we look on it with more 
pleasure than on a new vessel that is cankered with rust. 

I might further observe, that as cleanliness renders us 
Agreeable to others, it makes us easy to ourselves ; that it 
is an excellent preservative of health ; and that several 
vices, destructive both to mind and body, are inconsistent 
with the habit of it. 

In the third place, it bears a great analogy with ehastity 



72 

of sentiment, and naturally inspires refined feelings and 
passions. We find from experience, that through the pre- 
valence of custom the most vicious actions lose their hor- 
ror by being made familiar to us. On the contrary, those 
who live in the neighbourhood of good examples, fly from 
the first appearance of what is shocking ; and thus pure 
and unsullied thoughts are naturally suggested to the mind 
by those objects that perpetually encompass us, when they 
are beautiful and elegant in their kind. 

In the East, where the warmth of the climate makes 
cleanliness more immediately necessary than in colder 
countries, it is a part of religion : the Jewish law (as weH 
as the Mahometan, which in some things copies after it) 
is filled with bathing, purifications, and other rites of the 
like nature ; and we read several injunctions of this kind 
in the book of Deuteronomy. Addison, 

sloth. 

The whole structure of our nature, and the whole condi- 
tion of our being, prove that our Maker intended us not for 
a life of indolence, but of active exertion. All the organs 
of the body, and all the faculties of the mind, are instru- 
ments of action, and are to be employed in the vigorous 
pursuit of happiness. It is only by constant exercises that 
these powers can be preserved in a sound and healthful 
state. If the body be suffered to remain long inactive, it 
will lose its strength, and become a prey to disease ; at 
the same time the mental faculties will be gradually en- 
feebled, and the whole fabric of human happiness be under- 



73 

mined by fretfulness and spleen. It is, on the contrary, 
a matter of constant experience, that a regular course of 
bodily exercise is productive to health, exhilarates the 
spirits, and contributes to the easy and successful em- 
ployment of the intellectual powers. 

The frequent application of the mind to study, esta- 
blishes a habit of thinking, which renders it easy and plea- 
sant to engage in any kind of scientific or literary pursuit : 
whereas a mind which remains long unemployed loses its 
capacity and vigour, and sinks into languor and stupidity. 
As the earth, if it be industriously cultivated, will produce 
fruits in rich abundance ; but, if it be suffered to lie long 
untilled, will be over-run with weeds, which will be rank 
in proportion to the richness of the soil : so the human 
mind, if cultivated with great assiduity will yield a plen- 
tiful harvest of knowledge and wisdom; but if neglected, 
will soon be overspread with the weeds of error and folly ; 
and the poisonous weeds will spring up in the greatest 
abundance in those minds which are by nature capable of 
producing the most excellent fruits. 

To a mind thus corrupted by indolence the words of 
Solomon may be applied : u I went by the field of the 
slothful, and by the vineyard of the man void of under- 
standing, and lo ! it was all grown over with thorns, and 
nettles had covered the face thereof." The unquestion- 
able truth is, that man is made for action; and his faculties, 
like metallic instruments, if they be not polished with using, 
mil be consumed with the rust of indolence. Enfield. 

e 



74 

RELIGIOUS INTOLERANCE. 

All religious parties or sects are persuaded of their owit 
infallibility. Each cherishes the unhappy opinion, that, 
among the many religious professions, there is only one 
which possesses theological truths in all their purity ; each 
despises and abhors the rest, and accuses them of obsti- 
nacy, blindness, obduracy, and deceit. Each sect imagines 
itself to be in the right way, and all the others in error. 

Every man of a shallow mind is proud of his intolerance? 
and regards every thing that does not correspond with his 
tenets, as detestable and impure. It is too often the case 
that the enemies of a religion hate it, because they are not 
acquainted with it. They ascribe to their opponents prin- 
ciples which they abhor, and tenets which never entered 
into their imaginations. They propagate the most ridicu- 
lous calumnies against the professors of the obnoxious re- 
ligion. A Franconian catholic of high rank, in the true 
spirit of religious intolerance, gave this caution to his son 
when setting out on his travels : " My son,'' said the illus- 
trious bigot, " avoid the society of the Protestant Eccle- 
siastics, for they are all addicted to abominable crimes." 

In the eyes of the Turks all infidels are dogs, whose pre- 
sence alone is sufficient to pollute an orthodox Mussulman. 
For this reason no Christians were permitted to reside in a 
large portion of Arabia, because the cities of Mecca and 
Medina formed a part of it. Neither Jews nor Christians 
are allowed to be present in Egypt at the opening of the 
canals of the Nile, lest, by their impurity, they should 
prevent the overflowing of its waters. 



75 

The Mahomedans are unjust towards the Christians, 
and the Christians towards the Mahomedans. No Turk 
ever entertained the least doubt concerning the unity of 
the Godhead; and yet they have been accused of wor- 
shipping the stars, and in many Christian books they are 
termed pagans. 

Thus, mankind, more or less, shun and despise, ridicule 
and condemn, one another, because each professes the 
only saving religion. Thus the crusades swept away two 
millions of combatants : and they were undertaken in the 
true spirit of intolerance, for the extermination of infi- 
dels, and for a confirmation and extension of the true faith. 
Thus have princes been stimulated to convert the world 
into a hell, and in the name of a God of mercy to perse- 
cute and torment those whom they ought to have treated 
with love and compassion. Whoever imagines that ano- 
ther cannot possibly be a virtuous man who does not 
believe all that he believes ; whoever condemns all those 
whose way of thinking in religious matters does not cor- 
respond with his, will naturally be an enemy to th^e great- 
est part of his species. 

Men ought not thus lightly to condemn each other. — 
We shall be judged by a God of love ; he will judge us 
according to the faithfulness and sincerity with which we 
serve him. The hope of salvation is not grounded on a 
man's faith, but on his sincerity ; not on his opinions and 
knowledge, but on the worthiness, purity, and integrity of 
his heart and life. Zimmermann. 

e 2 



CHARITY. 

Charity is the chief characteristic of a virtuous and libe- 
ral mind. It combines almost every good quality which 
can adorn the human heart, and excludes the vices and 
failings which are inseparable from an unkind disposition. 

The relief of want and wretchedness, although in itself 
meritorious, yet forms only a small part of this excellent 
attribute. Neither envy, pride, anger, nor falsehood, can 
exist in the same breast with charity : but forbearance, hu- 
mility, mildness, and truth, are amongst its necessary con- 
stituents. Every character which is admired for the prac- 
tice of those virtues which make individuals amiable and 
interesting, teaches the value and excellence of this trans- 
cendent quality. The good Samaritan is the subject of 
universal praise ; and the spontaneous good nature which 
he displays towards the victim of cruelty, is enhanced by 
contrast with the unfeeling indifference of the Pharisee 
and Levite. But the forgiving temper, the generous af- 
fection, the rigid fidelity, and patient sufferings of Joseph, 
exhibit charity in the extensive and affecting views which 
every good man is anxious to attain. 

Blessed and happy is he who is successful in the amia- 
ble ambition of inheriting that quality, which, to use the 
beautiful language of Prior, 

ct Opens in each heart a little heavn" 
He is like the meandering stream, tranquil in itself; and 
diffusing health and fertility whithersoever it flows. 

Rippingham* 



11 

YOUTH AND AGE. 

To young persons life commonly appears a shining and 
flowery spring, which yields a thousand present delights, 
and promises a summer richly laden with precious fruits. 
They have heard, indeed, that it sometimes happens that 
storms and tempests rise to darken the brightest sky; and 
they are told that the summer and autumn of mature life 
must be at length succeeded by the gloomy winter of age : 
but they think it wholly unnecessary to damp the ardour 
of their present pursuits, by turning their attention to 
.events apparently so remote 

- From these and other causes, young people enter upon 
life with the most sanguine expectations of finding in every 
-event an inexhaustible fund of delight, and of seeing all 
their schemes and enterprises crowned with success. 
They behold Fame standing ready to sound the praise of 
their talents and merit, and Fortune waiting to reward 
their industry. Thus delighted with themselves and their 
prospects, they contemplate human life as an enchanting 
scene, inviting to action, pregnant with the pleasure, and 
rich in hope ; and they wonder at the. peevishness and 
perverseness of those who can find in the world nothing 
■but causes of vexation and complaint. 

Such is human life in prospect. Let us now, for a mo- 
ment, consider how it appears to those who view it in re- 
trospect. 

The gay illusions of youthful fancy are now all vanished. 
Through life they have met with many disappointments, 

E 3 



78 

perhaps with many heavy calamities* Plans which pro- 
mised great things have failed. Those in whom they con- 
fided have deserted them. With this appearance of the 
uncertainty and vanity of all earthly possessions, they are 
at length arrived at the period when youthful strength and 
beauty are exchanged for feebleness and deformity — 
when the senses are benumbed, and desire fails. 

The companions of their youth have dropped one after 
another into the grave : what wonder if at four-score they 
ask — Where is the world into which we were barn? What 
wonder if, with all their own experience of misfortune, 
and with their long observation of the ills of life, the 
world should appear to them a dreary wilderness ? 

If the former of these views of life be too gay, the latter 
is certainly too gloomy. The true medium is the aspect 
under tvhich life is seen at the middle station, in passing 
from youth to age. By the help of long experience and 
cool reflection, it is clearly ascertained that this world is 
neither a paradise of flowers nor a wilderness of thorns ; 
that though trouble and sorrow are the common lot of 
mortals, this sad account is, through the bounty of Divine 
Providence, commonly far overbalanced by enjoyments 
and gratifications of various kinds, animal, social, and in- 
tellectual. Enfield. 

PRAISE AND THANKSGIVING. 

The duty of praise and thanksgiving is a debt and law 
of our nature. We had such faculties bestowed on us by 
bur Creator, as made us capable of satisfying this debt, 



79 

and obeying this law ; and they never, therefore, are em- 
ployed more naturally than in this question. When God 
had finished that goodly frame of things which we call the 
world, and put together the several parts of it according 
to his infinite wisdom, there was still wanting a creature 
in these lower regions, that could apprehend the beauty, 
order, and exquisite contrivance of it ; that from content 
plating the gift, might be able to raise itself to the great 
Giver, and do honour to all His attributes. 

Every thing, indeed, that God made, did in some sense 
glorify its Author, inasmuch, as it carried upon it the plain 
mark and impression of the Deity, and was an effect wor- 
thy of that First Cause from which it flowed ; and thus 
might the heavens be said, at the first moment in which 
they stood forth, to " declare his glory, and the firma- 
ment to show his handywork." 

But this was an imperfect and defective glory ; the sign 
could be no signification here below, while there was no 
one to take notice of it. Man therefore was formed to 
supply this want ; endued with powers to find out and to 
acknowledge these unlimited perfections •• and then put into 
this temple of God, this lower world, as the priest of na- 
ture, to offer up the incense of thanks and praise for the 
mute and insensible part of the creation. 

This duty of thanksgiving takes the surer hold of us by 
that strong bent towards gratitude which the Author of 
our nature has implanted in it. There is not a more active 
principle than this in the mind of man ; and surely that 

£ 4 



80 

which deserves its utmost force is God, the great and 
universal Benefactor, from whom alone we receive what- 
ever we either have or are, and to tvhom we can repay 
nothing hut our praises and thankgiving. Attehbury. 

COMMON HONESTY. 

- It cannot surely be denied, that the quality which per- 
; vades every part of human life, and tends immediately to 
render it secure, comfortable, and honourable, is itself one 
of the most honourable which can be possessed by a human 
creature; and such is that uncelebrated virtue, plain, 
-unassuming, moral honesty. Without it, society is a den 
of thieves, and men are to each other wolves and foxes. 

Every day's experience evinces the justness of that re- 
presentation in the Scriptures, in which it is said, that " the 
heart is deceitful above all things who can know it ?" In 
the most trifling intercourse, where neither pleasure nor 
profit are in view, the propensity to deceit appears in the 
little promises, professions, complaints, which are mutu- 
ally made, usually without any sincerity of regard, and 
often with real and inveterate aversion* But where interest 
is in view, the machinations made use of for the accom- 
plishment of mean and mercenary purposes, are often such 
as might characterise an infernal agent. Plausibility is, 
at the same time, worn as a cloak ; and he who has a de- 
sign on your purse, your life, or your country, will assume 
all the appearance of cordial friendship and unpolluted ho- 
nour. It is well known, that the graces, the agreeable qualw 



SI 

ties, as they are called, and the appearance of the most ami- 
able virtues, have been possessed in perfection by men who 
finished their lives with ignominy as victims of the law. 

Indeed, this common honesty, as it is named, is far less 
common than our pride is willing to suppose ; but if it 
could be introduced into all the employments of life, the 
golden age would be restored. 

Early and late, by night and by day, " in season and out 
of season,'' as the Scripture strongly expresses it, I would 
inculcate the just remark of the moral poet, that " An ho- 
nest man is the noblest work of God." Knox. 

MODESTY AND ASSURANCE. 

I know no two words that have been more abused by the 
different and wrong interpretations put upon them, than 
these two, Modesty and Assurance ; and shall therefore 
endeavour to restore them to their true meaning, to pre- 
vent the idea of modesty from being confounded with that 
of sheepishness, and to hinder impudence from passing for 
assurance. 

I define modesty to be the reflection of an ingenuous 
mind, when a man has committed an action for which he 
either censures himself, or fancies that he is exposed to the 
censure of others* For this reason, a man truly modest is 
as much so when he is alone as in company : and as sub- 
ject to a blush in his closet, as when the eyes of multitudes 
are upon him. 

I take assurance to be the faculty of a man's possessing 
himself, or of saying and doing indifferent things without 

e 5 



82 

any uneasiness or emotion in the mind. That which gene- 
rally gives a man assurance, is a moderate knowledge of 
the world; but above all, a mind fixed and determined in 
itself to do nothing against the rules of honour and 
decency. 

An open and assured behaviour is the natural conse- 
quence of such a resolution. A man thus armed, if his 
words or actions be at any time misrepresented, retires 
within himself, and from a consciousness of his own inte- 
grity, assumes force enough to despise the little censures 
of ignorance and malice. 

Every one ought to encourage in himself the modesty 
and assurance which I have here mentioned. A man 
without this assurance is liable to be made uneasy by the 
folly or ill nature of every one he converses with : a man 
without modesty, is lost to all sense of honour and virtue. 

From what has been said, it is plain that modesty and 
assitrance are both amiable qualities^ and may very xvell 
meet in the same person. When they are thus mixed and 
blended together, they compose what we endeavour to 
express when we say a modest assurance ; by which we 
understand the just medium between bashfulness and 
impudence. 

I shall conclude with observing, that as the same man 
riray be both modest and assured, so it is also possible for 
the same person to be both impudent and bashful. We 
have frequent instances of this strange mixture in people 
of depraved minds and mean education ; who, though they 



83 

are not able to meet a man's eyes, or pronounce a sentence 
without confusion, can voluntarily commit the greatest 
villanies, or the most indecent actions. Addison. 

CONTENTMENT. 

The object of all human exertions is contentment — thai 
tranquil state of mind in which the agitations of anxiety 
and disappointment are no longer felt. 

The life of man is generally a series of conflict and un- 
easiness, and there are but few intervals from the cradle 
to the grave, in which fears andmortiflcations'arenot to be 
found. It is therefore no wonder that contentment should 
be the halcyon haven of every pursuit. The history of 
the world, in presenting the struggles of competition, only 
displays the eagerness and resolution with which mankind 
have sought to overcome the obstacles to tranquillity. And 
although the philosophers of every age inculcate that this 
state of mind is within the reach of all, yet in every con- 
dition of existence we find it is, or is thought to be, a fleet- 
ing form never to be attained. Yet surely some useful sug- 
gestions may be made by comparison with the state of 
others. Why will not envy and ambition be satisfied with 
competence ? Why does the poor man repine when he 
perceives the still poorer than him? Why do objects 
disturb us to which we might be indifferent without injury 
or danger ? We make ourselves miserable by trifles, and 
though surrounded by all the ingredients to comfort, ex- 
claim in the like spirit of Haman, " yet all this availeth 
me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew at the 
King's gate." Could we but consider, that after we have 

e 6 



84 

overcome the imaginary obstacles to our repose of mind, 
we should still find some fresh source of discontent, pru- 
dence and reason would enjoin us to be content. We 
should then taste the pleasures which our circumstances, 
whatever they may be, can afford : and with hearts affected 
by piety and resignation, address ourselves, under every 
calamity, to the Author of existence, in those words equally 
sacred and suitable, " thy will he done." Rippingham* 

courage. 

Courage is that habit of mind which suffers no dismay 
amidst danger. 

This quality obtains general admiration ; not only be- 
cause it is the source of heroism, but also because it is 
the characteristic of those who guard the community from 
foreign hostility. Perhaps there is no other endowment 
which more immediately leads to honourable distinctioa 
than this. The names of conquerors stand first in the me- 
mory of mankind : their fame is at least coeval with that of 
their country. In England, we venerate the names of 
Milton and Shakspeare, of Newton and Locke ; but to 
the remains and memory of Nelson, veneration is lost in 
general enthusiastic devotion. 

But there are nevertheless some circumstances, to which, 
in considering this subject, a dispassionate mind cannot be 
insensible. The first is, that as courage is a natural en- 
dowment and cannot be acquired ; so no degradation 
should be attached to those who cannot boast that they 
possess it. It may also be observed, that though courage is 



85 

an useful quality, it is not of itself either virtuous or amia- 
ble : and though it may lead to glory, and contribute to 
national security; yet it may also be employed in the vilest 
occupations — in those disgraceful habits which reduce 
man to a condition of brutal ferocity. 

These reflections teach us, that the excellence of cou- 
rage is relative. That the want of it does not indicate a 
bad heart, or a weak understanding ; and that it may be 
employed either as a most useful, or a most disgraceful 
qualification. Rippingham. 

A FUTURE STATE. 

Our knowledge of a future world is very imperfect ; our 
ideas of it are faint and confused. Happy moments, indeed, 
there sometimes are in the lives of pious men, when, se- 
questered from worldly cares, and borne up on the wings 
of divine contemplation, they rise to a near and transport- 
ing view of immortal glory. But such efforts of the mind 
are rare, and cannot be long supported. When the spirit 
of meditation subsides, this lively sense of a future state 
decays ; and though the general belief of it remain, yet 
even good men, when they return to the ordinary business 
and cares of life, seem to rejoin the multitude, and to re- 
assume the same hopes, and fears, and interests, which 
influence the rest of the world. 

Under the care of the Almighty, our education is now 
going on, from a mortal to an immortal state. As much 
light is let in upon us as we can bear without injury. 
When the subjects become too splendid and dazzling for 
our sight, the curtain is drawn. 



S6 

The great design of all the knowledge, and in particu- 
lar, of the religious knowledge which God has afforded us, 
is, to fit us for discharging the duties of life. If the dis- 
covery were more imperfect, it would excite no desire of 
immortality ; if it were more full and striking it would 
render us careless of life. Blair. 

hope. 

Hope, even though unsupported by probability, is the 
chief source of human happiness. In the days of adversity 
it sheds a benignant light to dissipate despondency : in 
prosperity it points to some unseen sphere, in which 
prosperity itself shines yet more brightly. 

There is a pleasure in anticipation, which often sur- 
passes that of possession : for it is unalloyed by the satiety 
and disappointments which often accompany the comple- 
tion of our wishes. In the affairs of life, perseverance is 
supported by the expectation of success. The cares of 
parental solicitude are beguiled by the prospect of the 
infant's future years. Even the wandering mendicant, 
when he beholds comforts which he cannot partake, feels 
some consolation in the thought, that he may yet be as 
blessed as others. 

But in those awful conditions when the world ceases to 
amuse or flatter ; when all sublunary bliss fades, even to 
expectation, Hope attends the couch of death, and points 
to " another and a better world." Like the breeze which 
wafts the gliding vessel, it carries us forward through life ; 
and guides us at last to a halcyon haven. 

Rippincham. 



87 

DEATH. 

The dissolution of corporal existence, is a subject of in- 
structive consideration. As it is an inevitable event, it 
claims the most serious contemplation; so that its ap- 
proach may be felt with resignation, and its sumnjons 
obeyed with cheerful hope. 

This attention is the more prudent, since it is univer- 
sally known, that the visitation of death is received with 
feelings widely different. When it is the close of a life 
which has been employed in virtue and benevolence, it is 
distinguished by tranquillity ; but when it is the termin- 
ation of a career of vice, it is embittered by the painful 
suggestions of remorse — by reflections of a mis-spent, 
unprofitable, and disgraceful existence. The death-bed of 
expiring worth is consecrated by the tears of filial piety, 
of conjugal affection, and friendship's solicitude. But such 
endearments seldom attend, and never can ameliorate the 
last moments of vice. The retrospect of life is blackened 
with guilt ; the prospect of futurity is shadowed with fears. 
Conscience is armed with terrors: and the appalled victim 
of self-iniquity yields the tribute of nature in the horrors 
of convulsive agony. 

Yet far more formidable is the consideration of death, if 
viewed as the commencement of a new state of existence, 
in which the tenor of mortal life is to be the criterion of 
future misery or happiness. Yet such is the mode in which 
Christianity requires that human dissolution should be 
regarded. 



88 

For this awful event it behoves every one to be ready : 
and since the hour in which it may come upon us is uncer- 
tain, there is an indispensable necessity upon all mankind 
to be prepared for it by virtuous and pious living. 

RlPPINGHAM. 
EARLY IMPROVEMENT. 

There is not a greater inlet to misery and vices of all 
kinds, than the not knowing how to pass our vacant hours. 
For what remains to be done, when the first part of the 
lives of those who are not brought up to any manual em- 
ployment, has slipt away without acquired relish for 
reading, or taste for other rational satisfactions ? — That 
they should pursue their pleasures ? — But, religion apart, 
common prudence will warn them to tie up the wheel as 
they begin to go down the hill of life. 

Shall they then apply themselves to their studies ? Alas ! 
the seed-time is already past : the enterprising and spirited 
ardour of youth being over, without having been applied 
to those valuable purposes for which it was given, all am- 
bition of excelling upon general and laudable schemes 
quite stagnates. If they have not some poor expedient 
to deceive the time, or, to speak more properly, to deceive 
themselves, the length of a day will seem tedious to those, 
who perhaps have the unreasonableness to complain of 
the shortness of life in general. s 

When the former part of our life has been nothing but 
vanity, the latter end of it can be nothing but vexation, 
In short, we must be miserable without some employment 



89 

~to fix, or some amusement to dissipate our thoughts. And 
as we can neither command amusement in all places, nor 
relish it at all times, there is an absolute necessity for em- 
ployment. We may pursue this or that new pleasure : we 
may be fond for a while of a new acquisition ; but when 
the graces of novelty are worn off, and the briskness of our 
first desire is over, the transition is very quick and sudden 
from an eager fondness to a cool indifference. Hence there 
is a restless agitation in our minds, still craving something 
new, still unsatisfied with it when possessed : till melan- 
choly increases as we advance in years, like shadows 
lengthening toward the close of day. 

Hence it is, that men of this stamp are continually com- 
plaining that the times are altered for the worse : because 
the sprightliness of youth represented every thing in the 
most engaging light. When men are in high good-humour 
with themselves, they are apt to be so with all around 
them ; the face of nature brightens up, and the sun shines 
with a more agreeable lustre : but when old age has cut 
them off from the enjoyment of false pleasures, and ha- 
bitual vice has given them a distaste for the only true and 
lasting delights ; when a retrospect of their past lives pre- 
sents nothing to view but one wide tract of uncultivated 
ground ; a soul, distempered tvilk spleen, remorse, and in- 
sensibility of each rational satisfaction, darkens and disco- 
lours every object. The change is not in the times, but in 
them who have been forsaken by those gratifications which 
they would not forsake, 



90 

How much otherwise is it with those who have trea- 
sured up an inexhaustible fund of knowledge ! When a 
man has been laying out that time in the pursuit of some 
great and important truth, which others waste in a circle # 
of gay follies, he is conscious of having acted up to the 
dignity of his nature ; and from that consciousness there 
results a serene complacency which, though not so violent, 
is much preferable to the pleasures of animal life. He can 
travel on from strength to strength ; for in literature, as in 
war, each new conquest he gains impowers him to push 
his conquests still farther, and to enlarge the empire of 
reason. Thus he is ever in a progressive state, still mak- 
ing new acquirements, still animated with hopes of future 
discoveries. Seed. 

PERSEVERANCE. 

If the commencement of any undertaking be laudable, 
the resolution to persist in it must still be more meritori- 
ous. Little can be done without determination ; and cer- 
tainly no great acquirement can be made without patient 
and steady application. The stupendous works of art with 
which the world abounds, and the great resources which 
some men have accumulated in their minds, exhibit at once 
the efficacy of perseverance. Mountains have been levelled, 
and vast aqueducts have been made, by repeated strokes 
of the pick-axe and spade ; yet if the single operation of 
either instrument be compared with the effect which perse- 
verance has made them accomplish, a mixture of wonder 
and emulation must ensue. Such examples teach despair 
how much may be overcome by resolution ; and that even 



91 

in competitions, the weaker and less eligible may, like the 
tortoise, whose perseverance surpassed the swiftness of 
the hare, conquer the apparent advantages by which they 
may be opposed. There is another consideration to which 
no one should be insensible ; it is this, that perseverance 
not only goes Jar to insure success, but also obtains honour 
for those who, although the least fortunate, have been the 
most diligent. Rippingham. 

CONSCIENCE. 

Conscience is the delegate of an invisible ruler; both 
anticipating his sentence, and foreboding its execution. 

Hence arise the terrors which so often haunt guilt, and 
rise in proportion to its atrocity. In the history of all 
nations, the tyrant and the oppressor, the bloody and the 
flagitious, have been ever pointed out, as fearful, unquiet, 
and restless ; subject to alarms and apprehensions of an 
unaccountable kind. And surely, to live under such dis- 
quietude, from the dread of merited punishment, is al- 
ready to undergo one of the most severe punishments 
which human nature can suffer. When the world threatens 
us with any of the evils, we know the extent, and discern 
the limits of the danger. We see the quarter on which we 
are exposed to its attack. We measure our own strength 
with that of our adversary ; and can take precautions, 
either for making resistance, or for contriving escape. But 
when an awakened conscience places before the sinner the just 
vengeance of the Almighty, the prospect is confounding, be- 
cause the danger is boundless. It is a dark unknown which 



92 

threatens him. The arm that is stretched over him, he 
can neither see nor resist. On every side he dreads it ; 
and on every object which surrounds him, he looks with 
terror, because he is conscious that every object can be 
employed against him as an instrument of wrath. 

Blair. 



LITERARY EDUCATION. 

Of the advantages arising from literary education, com- 
mon observation affords ample proofs. The mind, natu- 
rally limited by its weakness, becomes endowed by litera- 
ture with the wisdom of preceding ages ; and thus emerges 
from its own little sphere, into the expansive regions of 
genius and science. But it is not in the mere conscious 
superiority which literary education confers, that its 
advantages consist : the addition which it makes to know- 
ledge and happiness ; the means which it provides for act- 
ing wisely with regard to the future, from the admonitions 
of the past; the consolation which it yields to adversity, 
and the recreation which it affords to virtuous prosperity, 
are amongst the blessings which arise from a literary edu- 
cation. Religion, philosophy, every great subject on which 
the reason of man is employed, and in which his inte- 
rests are involved, obtain illustration by this fortunate en- 
dowment. Poets, orators, historians, and philosophers — 
all the great masters of thinking and writing become incor- 
porated with the mental energies of him who has obtained by 
education the hey of knowledge. Happy in himself, he. 



93 

like the amiable and transcendent scholar * of our age 
and country, may diffuse instruction and delight to man- 
kind and be rewarded, like him, with the applause of the 
virtuous and the wise. Rippingham. 

THE VARIETY OF NATURE. 

The variety which appears in nature, is the offspring, 
not of confusion, but of order. Though the forms of in- 
dividual beings are finely diversified, so that it is perhaps 
impossible to find, in the whole compass of nature, two 
organised bodies perfectly alike ; yet amidst this bound- 
less variety we may observe perfect regularity. The re- 
gularity is of two kinds, that of gradation and that of 
arrangement. That of gradation chiefly appears in ani- 
mated nature, where beings possess different powers and 
faculties, through a long succession, each holding his 
proper place in the scale of excellence. That of arrange- 
ment prevails through the whole visible world; each indi- 
vidual possessing some qualities or characters, in common 
with some others, which enable the spectator to consider 
them as belonging to the same species or kind ; and each 
species partaking with some others of common appearances, 
by means of which they may be classed under some ge- 
neral description ; till at length we arrive at the three com- 
prehensive divisions under which all the bodies which belong 
to this earth are commonly arranged — animals, vegetables, 
and minerals. * Enfielix 

* Sir William Jones. 



94 

NIGHT. 

The sun has set; the night dews fall ; and the air, which 
was sultry and oppressive, becomes cool. The flowers of 
the garden, closing their coloured leaves, fold themselves 
up, and hang their heads on the slender stalk, waiting the 
return of day. 

The birds of the grove have ceased their warblings ; 
they sleep on the boughs of trees. There is no murmur 
of bees around the hive, or amongst the honeyed wood- 
bines ; they have finished their work, and now lie close in 
their waxen cells. 

The sheep rest in the fields upon their soft fleeces, and 
their loud bleating no longer resounds from the hills. 
There is no sound of the voices of the busy multitude, or 
of children at play, or the trampling of feet and of crowds 
hurrying to and fro. The smith's hammer is not heard 
upon the anvil ; nor the harsh saw of the carpenter. All 
men are stretched upon their quiet beds ; and the infant 
reposes in peace and security on the bosom of its mother. 
Darkness is spread over the skies, and darkness is upon 
the ground : every eye is shut, and every hand is still. 

Who takes care of all people when they are sunk in 
sleep ; when they cannot defend themselves, nor see if 
danger approaches ? There is an eye that never sleeps ; 
there is an eye that sees in the darkness of night as well 
as in the brightest sun-shine. When there is no light of the 
sun, nor of the moon ; when there is no lamp in the house, 
nor any star twinkling through the thick clouds ; that eye 



95 

sees everywhere, in all places, and watches continually 
over all the families of the earth. 

The eye that sleeps not is God's ; his hand is always 
stretched out over us. He made sleep to refresh us when 
we are weary : he made night that we might sleep in quiet. 
As the affectionate mother stills every little noise, that 
her infant be not disturbed ; as she draws the curtains 
around its bed, and shuts out the light from its tender 
eyes ; so God draws the curtains of darkness around us ; 
so he makes all things to be hushed and stilly that his large 
family may sleep in peace. 

When the darkness has passed away, and the beams of 
the morning sun strike through your eye-lids, begin the 
day with praising God, who has taken care of you through 
the night. Flowers, when you open again, spread your 
leaves and smell sweet to his praise ! Birds, when you 
awake, warble your thanks amongst the green boughs ! 
Let his 'praise be in your hearts when you lie down ; let 
his praise be on your lips when you awake. 

Barbauld. 
good disposition. 

Goodness is universally approved ; justice, equity, truth, 
sincerity, candour, beneficence, mercy, ever have passed, 
and ever will pass, for virtues. 

There is no man who does not desire that others would 
exercise them towards him ; even they who are deficient 
in the practice of them, yet pay them the decent respect 
ta think and to speak well of them. 



96 

There is no man who does not condemn fraud, malice, 
cruelty, treachery, ingratitude, injustice, especially when 
he is made to experience the ill effects of them. 

No man ever acted uprightly and honourably, who did 
not feel acalm serenity, a complacency and satisfaction; 
none ever pursued wicked courses without some degree 
of shame and regret, and self-condemnation, and some 
struggles of expiring virtue. 

None, except here and there a brute, ever received 
great favours and benefits, who had not, out of mere 
natural ingenuousness, a grateful sense of them ; and an 
intention to testify it, and to make somewhat of a return. 

No man, except hardened by a long course of villany, 
ever saw others in great pain and want, and sorrow, and 
distress, and found not a disposition to commiserate and 
assist them, though he could expect from them no other 
return than thanks. 

History abounds with examples of men who through na- 
tural inclination, through generosity and nobleness of mind, 
have done great services to their friends, to their country, 
to strangers, to foreigners, to mankind in general ; who, 
to accomplish these ends, have denied themselves many 
advantages and pleasures, have encountered many incon- 
veniencies, hardships, and dangers, and have even lost their 
lives, without a view to any worldly recompence except 
perhaps that they hoped and expected to be honoured,^ 
living or dead, by those whom they had obliged, and 
by judicious and worthy persons. And this surely cannot 



97 

greatly derogate from their virtuous deeds ; it only shows 
that, besides a natural sweetness of temper and greatness 
of soul, they had also some regard to reputation, and a de- 
sire to stand fair in the opinion of the public ; and to re- 
ceive what they justly deserved, the love and the esteem 
of their fellow-creatures. And why not ? since God himself 
requires our acknowledgments and our affections for his 
loving-kindness. Thus it hath ever been, and thus it is still, 
in the world ; instances are not wanting of constancy, of 
friendship, of fidelity, of gratitude, of compassion, of inte- 
grity, many of which escape the notice of the public ; 
and are perhaps only observed of God and good angels, 
being seldom transacted in high life and under splendid 
roofs and palaces. Jortin. 

god. 

Consider that God is every where present, and then you 
will study to be every where holy. 

God is everywhere present by his power. He rolls the 
orbs of heaven with his hand, he fixes the earth with his 
foot, he guides all the creatures with his eye, and refreshes 
them with his influence; and makes the powers of hell to 
shake with his terrors. There is not one hollowness in the 
bottom of the sea, but he shows himself to be the Lord of 
it, by sustaining there the creatures that come to dwell in 
it : and in the wilderness, the bittern and the stork, the 
lion and the elephant, live upon his provisions, and feel 
the force of his almightiness. 

Let every thing you see represent to your spirit the pre* 



98 

sence, the excellency, and the power of God, In the face 
of the sun you may see God's beauty ; in the fire you may 
feel his heat warming ; in the water his gentleness to re- 
fresh you : it is the dew of heaven that makes your field 
give you bread ; in all things it is the bounty of God that 
ministers to your necessities. 

This consideration of the Divine presence is apt to pro- 
duce joy and rejoicing in God: we delight in being of the 
same household with God ; he is with us in our natural ac- 
tions to preserve us, in our recreations to restrain us, in 
our public actions to applaud or approve us, in our private 
actions to observe us, in our sleep to guard us, in our 
watch ings to refresh us ; and if we walk with God in all 
his ways, as he walks with us in all ours, we shall jind per- 
petual reasons to enable us to keep that rule of % his, "Re- 
joice in the Lord always /" 

GOOD HUIVIOUR. 

Good-humour may be defined to be a habit of being 
pleased; a constant and perennial softness of manner, 
easiness of approach, and suavity of disposition ; like that 
which every man perceives in himself, when the first trans- 
ports of new felicity have subsided, and his thoughts are 
only kept in motion by a slow succession of soft impulses. 
Good-humour is a state between gaiety and unconcern ; 
the act or emanation of a mind at leisure to regard the 
gratification of another. 

It is imagined by many, that whenever they aspire to 
please, they are required to be merry, and to shew the glad- 

18 



99 

ness of their souls by flights of pleasantry, and bursts of 
laughter. But though these men may be for a time heard 
with applause and admiration, they seldom delight us long. 
We enjoy them a little, and then retire to easiness and 
good-humour, as the eye gazes a while on eminences glit- 
tering with the sun, but soon turns aching away to verdure 
and flowers. 

Gaiety is to good-humour as animal perfumes to vege- 
table fragrance ; the one overpowers weak spirits, and the 
other recreates and revives them. Gaiety seldom fails to 
give some pain ; the hearers either strain their faculties to 
accompany its towerings, or are left behind in envy and 
despair. Good-humour boasts no faculties which every one 
does not believe in his owi potver, aud pleases principally 
by not offending, Johnson. 

TRUTH AND SINCERITY. 

Truth and sincerity have all the advantages of appear- 
ance and reality. If the show of any thing be good, lam 
sure sincerity is better : for why does any man dissemble, 
or seem to be that # which he is not, but because he thinks 
it good to have such a quality as he pretends to ? for to 
counterfeit and dissemble is to put on the appearance of 
some real excellency. Now the best way for a man to 
seem to be any thing, is really to be what he would seem 
to be. 

It is hard to personate and act a part long ; for where 
truth is not at the bottom ; nature will always be endeavour- 

f 2 



100 

ing to return, and will peep out and betray herself one time 
or other. Therefore, if any man think it convenient to 
seem good, let him be so indeed, and then his goodness 
will appear to every body's satisfaction ; so that upon all 
accounts, sincerity is true wisdom. 

Particularly as to the affairs of this world, integrity has 
many advantages over all the fine and artificial ways of dis- 
simulation and deceit ; it is much the plainer and easier, 
much the safer and more secure way of dealing; it has less 
of trouble and difficulty, of entanglement and perplexity, 
of danger and hazard in it ; it is the shortest and nearest 
way to our end, carrying us thither in a straight line, and 
will hold out and last longest. 

The arts of deceit and cunning continually grow weaker 
and less effectual to them that use them ; while integrity 
gains strength by use ; and the more and longer any man 
practises it, the greater service it does him, by confirming 
his reputation and encouraging others to repose the great- 
est truth and confidence in him ; which is an unspeakable 
advantage in the business and affairs of life. 

Truth is always consistent with itself, and needs nothing 
to help it out; it is always near at hand, sits upon our lips, 
and is ready to drop out before we are aware; a lie is trou- 
blesome, and sets a man's invention upon the rack, and one 
trick needs a great many more to make it good. It is like 
building upon a false foundation, which continually stands 
in need of props to shore it up, and proves at last more 
chargeable, than to have raised a substantial building at 



101 

first upon a true and solid foundation. Sincerity is firm 
and substantial ; there is nothing hollow or unsound in it; 
and, because it is plain and open it fears no discovery. 
Of this the crafty man is always in danger, and when he 
thinks he walks in the dark, all his pretences are so trans- 
parent, that he that runs may read them ; he is the last 
man that finds himself to be found out ; and while he takes 
it for granted that he makes fools of others, he renders 
himself ridiculous. 

Add to all this, sincerity is the most compendious wis- 
dom, and an excellent instrument for speedy dispatch of 
business ; by creating confidence in those we have to deal 
with, it saves the labour of many inquiries, and brings 
things to an issue in few words ; it is like travelling in a 
plain beaten road, which commonly brings a man sooner 
to his journey's end, than by-ways, in which men often lose 
themselves. In a word, whatever convenience may ba 
thought to be in falsehood and dissimulation, it is soon 
over ; but their inconvenience is perpetual, because they 
bring a man under an everlasting*' jealousy and suspicion, 
so that he is not believed when he speaks truth, or trusted 
perhaps when he means honestly. When a man has once 
forfeited the reputation of his integrity, he is set fast, and 
nothing will then serve his turn, neither truth nor false- 
hood. TlLLOTSOX. 
THE PERSIAN LANGUAGE. 

The Persian language is rich, melodious, and elegant. 
It has been spoken for many ages by the greatest princes 

* 3 



102 

in the politest courts of Asia; and a number of admirable 
works have been written in it by historians, philosophers, 
and poets, who found it capable of expressing with equal 
advantage the most beautiful and the most elevated senti- 
ments. 

Since the literature of Asia was so much neglected, and 
the causes of that neglect were so various, we could not 
have expected that any slight power would rouse the na- 
tions of Europe from their inattention to it ; and they 
would, perhaps, have persisted in despising it, if they had 
not been animated by the most powerful incentive that can 
influence the mind of man : interest was the magic wand 
which brought them all within one circle ; interest was the 
charm which gave the languages of the East a real and 
solid importance. By one of those revolutions, which no 
human prudence could have foreseen, the Persian language 
found its way into India ; that rich and celebrated empire, 
which, by the flourishing state of our commerce, has been 
the source of incredible wealth to the merchants of Europe. 
A variety of causes which need not be mentioned here, 
gave the English nation a most extensive power in that 
kingdom : our India Company began to take under their 
protection the princes of the country, by whose protection 
they gained their first settlement : a number of important 
affairs were to be transacted in peace and war between 
nations equally jealous of one another, who had not the com- 
mon instrument of conveying their sentiments; the servants 
of the company received letters which they could not read* 



103 

and were ambitious of gaining titles of which they could 
not comprehend the meaning ; it was found highly dan- 
gerous to employ the natives as interpreters, upon whose 
fidelity they could not depend; and it was at last dis- 
covered, that they must apply themselves to the study 
of the Persian language in which all the letters from the 
Indian princes were written. A few men of parts and 
taste, who resided in Bengal, have since amused them- 
selves with the literature of the East, and have spent 
their leisure in reading the poems and histories of Persia. 
The languages of Asia will now perhaps be studied with 
uncommon ardour. They are known to be useful, and 
will soon be found instructive and entertaining. The 
valuable manuscripts that enrich our public libraries will 
be, in a few years, elegantly printed : the manners and 
sentiments of the eastern nations will be perfectly known ; 
and the limits of our knowledge will be no less extended 
thto the bounds of our empire. 

A knowledge of this language, and of its companion, the 
Arabic, will be attended with a variety of advantages to 
those who acquire it; the Hebrew, Chaldaic, Syriac, and 
Ethiopian tongues, are dialects of the Arabic, and bear as 
near a resemblance to it as the Ionic to the Attic Greek; 
the jargon of Indostan, very improperly called the lan- 
guage of the Moors, contains so great a number of Persian 
words, that I was able with very little difficulty to read 
the fables of Pilpai which are translated into that idiom ; 
the Turkish contains ten Arabic or Persian words for one 

f 4< 



104 

originally Scythian, by which it has been so refined, that 
the modern kings of Persia were fond of speaking it in 
their courts : in short there is scarcely a country in Asia 
or Africa, from the source of the Nile to the wall of China, 
in which a man who understands Arabic, Persian, and 
Turkish may not travel with satisfaction, or transact the 
most important affairs with advantage and security. 

As to the literature of Asia, it will not, perhaps, be es- 
sentially useful to the greater part of mankind, who have 
neither leisure nor inclination to cultivate so extensive a 
branch of learning; but the civil and natural history of 
such mighty empires as India, Persia, Arabia, and Tar- 
tary, cannot fail of delighting those who love to view the 
great picture of the universe, or to learn by what degrees 
the most obscure states have risen to glory,' and the most 
flourishing kingdoms have sunk to decay ; the philosopher 
will consider those works as highly valuable, by which he 
may trace the human mind in all its various appearances, 
from the rudest to the most cultivated state ; and the man 
of taste will undoubtedly be pleased to unlock the stores 
of native genius, and to gather the flowers of unrestrained 
and luxuriant fancy. Sir William Jones. 

GOOD PRINCIPLES IN EARLY LIFE. 

To enable a young man to form a plan of conduct to 
which he may safely adhere through the whole course of 
life, two things are requisite : First, that he acquire a clear 
idea of the nature, and establish a full conviction of the 



105 

obligations of morality and religion ; secondly, that he 
study his own particular capacity, temper, relations, and 
condition in life. 

With these let every young person make his entrance 
into the world — with deliberate meditations on the scene 
which lies before him ; with serious reflections on the im- 
portance of human life ; with rational principles of morals 
and religion ; with a prudent and well-digested plan of 
life; and with determined resolution to adhere to that 
path which his reason and judgment have led him .to 
choose, as the path of safety and happiness. He will 
then pursue his journey through life in a steady course of 
manly virtue, unseduced by the allurements which may 
assault him on the right hand and on the left. In the 
midst of the applauses of the wise and good among his 
fellow-creatures, surrounded with the fruits of his early 
virtues, and triumphing in the consciousness of having 
made a wise, and happy choice, he will go on his way 
rejoicing, and will experience the path of the just to be 
" as the shining light which shineth more and more unto 
the perfect day." 



F 3 



106 



PART THE FOURTH. 



ARGUMENTS PRODUCED BY COMPARISON 
AND CONTRAST. 

After the student shall have acquired the habit of defin- 
ing and forming judgments upon subjects proposed to him, 
he may be at some little difficulty in ascertaining or analyz- 
ing the reasons from which his conclusions have been form- 
ed ; and which, although he is conscious of possessing, 
he is nevertheless unable to express. To assist such novi- 
ciates in the art, I have added this fourth part ; the object 
of which is to show the manner in which good writers fre- 
quently argue by exhibiting characters and objects, who 
are clearly endowed or free from the quality under consi- 
deration. This mode will give the pupil a habit of great 
value in all discussions, and will, I hope, without multiply- 
ing rules upon him, initiate him into the practice of look- 
ing into his own mind for thoughts, and give him facility 
n producing them for the contemplation of others. 
The examples need not be very numerous, as the atten- 



107 

tive mind will soon acquire the habit, to inculcate which is 
particularly the object, of this part of the work. It may 
not, however, be amiss to suggest to instructors, that after 
they have obtained from their pupils the definition and 
judgment upon any subject, particularly those connected 
with the human character, they will assist the student's 
view, by asking him " what is the difference between a 
person who has this quality and one who has not ?" the 
answer given in writing will exhibit the arguments which 
comparison can furnish. 

The considerations should in the first attempts be few, 
by which the truth of the judgment is to be demonstrated. 
And the student should ask himself, when writing each 
sentence, whether it do or do not conduce to prove the 
opinion he is supporting. It is easy to write a great deal ; 
but the difficulty is to write such things only as are suit- 
able to the place in which they appear, and applicable to 
the subject, upon which they are written. In truth the 
chief care of the student, and of the instructor, should be 
to exclude such thoughts and considerations as do not 
plainly lead from the definition to the judgment. 

TRUST IN GOD. 

The natural homage which such a creature as man owes 
to an infinitely wise and good Being, is a firm reliance on 
him for the blessings and conveniences of life ; and an ha- 
bitual trust in him, for deliverance out of all such dangers 
and difficulties as may befal us. 

f 6 



108 

The man who always lives in this disposition of mind, 
has not the same dark and melancholy views of human 
nature, as he who considers himself abstractedly from this 
relation to the Supreme Being. At the same time that he 
reflects upon his own weakness and imperfection, he com- 
forts himself with the contemplation of those divine attri- 
butes, which are employed for his safety and his welfare. 
He finds his want of foresight made up, by the omniscience 
of him who is his support. He is not sensible of his own 
want of strength, when he knows that his helper is almighty. 
In short, the person who has a firm trust in the Supreme 
Being, is powerful in his power, wise in his wisdom, happy 
by his happiness. He reaps the benefit of every divine 
attribute ; and loses his own insufficiency in the fulness of 
infinite perfection. To make our lives more easy to us, we 
are commanded to put our trust in him, who is thus able 
to relieve and succour us ; the Divine Goodness having 
made such a reliance a duty, notwithstanding we should 
have been miserable, had it been forbidden us. 

Among several motives which might be made use of to 
recommend this duty to us, I shall only take notice of those 
that follow. 

The first and strongest is, that we are promised, he will 
not fail those that put their trust in him. 

But without considering the supernatural blessing which 
accompanies this duty, we may observe, that it has a na- 
tural tendency to its own reward ; or in other words, that 



109 

this firm trust and confidence in the great Disposer of all 
things, contribute very much to the getting clear of any 
affliction, or to the bearing of it manfully. A person who 
believes he has his succour at hand, and that he acts in 
the sight of his friend, often exerts himself beyond his 
abilities; and does wonders that are not to be matched by 
one who is not animated with such a confidence of success. 
Trust in the assistance of an Almighty Being, naturally 
produces patience, hope, cheerfulness, and all other dis- 
positions of mind which alleviate those calamities that 
we are not able to remove. 

The practice of this virtue administers great comfort to 
the mind of man, in times of poverty and affliction ; but 
most of all, in the hour of death. When the soul is hover- 
ing in the last moments of its separation ; when it is just 
entering on another state of existence, to converse with 
scenes, and objects, and companions, that are altogether 
new; what can support her under such tremblings of 
thought, such fear, and anxiety, such apprehensions, but 
the casting all her cares on him, who first gave her being ; 
who has conducted her through one stage of it ; and who 
will be always present, to guide and comfort her in her 
progress through eternity ? Addison. 

THE USE OF OUR FACULTIES. 

Happy that man, who unembarrassed by vulgar cares, 
master of himself, his time, and fortune, spends his time in 
making himself wiser ; and his fortune, in making others 



110 

(and therefore himself) happier ; who, as the will and un- 
derstanding are the two ennobling faculties of the soul, 
thinks himself not complete till his understanding is beau- 
tified with the valuable furniture of knowledge, as well as 
his will enriched with every virtue ; who has furnished 
himself with all the advantages to enrich solitude and en- 
liven conversation ; who, when serious is not sullen ; and 
when cheerful, not indiscreetly gay ; whose ambition is 
not to be admired for a false glare of greatness, but to be 
beloved for the gentle and sober lustre of his wisdom and 
goodness. The greatest minister of state has not more 
business to do, in a public capacity, than he, and indeed 
every other man, may find in the retired and still scenes 
of life. Even in his private walks, every thing that is 
visible convinces him there is present a Being invisible. 
Aided by natural philosophy, he reads plain legible traces 
of the Divinity, in every thing he meets : he sees the 
Deity in every tree, as well as Moses did in the burning 
bush, though not in so glaring a manner ; and when he sees 
him, he adores him with the tribute of a grateful heart. 

Seed, 
candour. 
True candour is altogether different from that guarded 
inoffensive language, and that studied openness of beha- 
viour, which we so frequently meet with among men of the 
world. Smiling, very often, is the aspect, and smooth are 
the words, of those who inwardly are the most ready to 
think evil of others. That candour which is a Christian 



Ill 

virtue, consists, not in the fairness of speech, but in the 
fairness of heart. It may want the blandishment of exter- 
nal courtesy, but supplies its place with humane and ge- 
nerous liberality of sentiment. Its manners are unaffect- 
ing and its professions cordial. Exempt, on one hand, 
from the dark jealousy of a suspicious mind, it is no less 
removed, on the other, from that easy credulity which is 
imposed on by every specious pretence. It is perfectly 
consistent with extensive knowledge of the world, and with 
due attention to our own safety. In that various intercourse 
which we are obliged to carry on with persons of every 
different character, suspicion, to a certain degree, is a ne- 
cessary guard. It is only when it exceeds the bounds of 
prudent caution that it degenerates into vice. There is a 
proper mean between undistinguishing credulity and uni- 
versal jealousy, which a sound understanding discerns, 
and which the man of candour studies to preserve. 

He makes allowance for mixture of evil with good, which 
is to be found in every human character. He expects 
none to be faultless ; and he is unwilling to believe that 
there is any without some commendable qualities. In the 
midst of many defects, he can discover a virtue. Under 
the influence of personal resentment, he can be just to the 
merit of an enemy. He never lends an open ear to those 
defamatory reports and dark suggestions which, among 
the tribes of the censorious, circulate with so much ra- 
pidity, and meet with so ready acceptance. He is not 
hasty to judge ; and he requires full evidence before he 



112 

will condemn. As long as an action can be ascribed to 
different motives, he holds it as no mark of sagacity to 
impute it always to the worst. Where there is just ground 
for doubt, he keeps his judgment undecided ; and, during 
the period of suspense, leans to the most charitable con- 
struction which an action can bear. When he must con- 
demn, he condemns with regret; and without those aggra- 
vations which the severity of others adds to the crime. He 
listens calmly to the apology of the offender, and readily 
admits every extenuating circumstance which equity can 
suggest. How much soever he may blame the principles of 
any sect or party, he never confounds, under one general 
censure all who belong to that party or sect. He charges 
them not with such consequences of their tenets, as they 
refuse and disavow. From one wrong opinion, he does not 
infer the subversion of all sound principles ; nor from one 
bad action, conclude that all regard to conscience is over- 
thrown. When he " beholds the mote in his brother's eye,'* 
he remembers " the beam in his own." He commiserates 
human frailty ; and judges of others according to the prin- 
ciples, by which he 'would think it reasonable that they 
should judge of him. In a word, he views men and actions 
in the clear sunshine of charity and good-nature; and not 
in that dark and sullen shade which jealousy and party- 
spirit throw over all characters. Blair, 
modesty. 
Who art thou, O man, that presumest on thine own wis* 
dom ? or why dost thou vaunt thyself on thine own ac^ 



113 

quirements? The first step towards being wise, is to 
know that thou art ignorant ; and if thou wouldst not be 
esteemed foolish in the judgment of others, cast off the 
folly of being wise in thine own conceit. 

As a plain garment best adorneth a beautiful woman, 
so a decent behaviour is the greatest ornament of 
wisdom. 

The speech of a modest man giveth lustre to truth, and 
the diffidence of his words absorbeth his error. 

He relieth not on his own wisdom ; he weigheth the 
counsels of a friend, and receiveth the benefit thereof. 

He turneth away his ear from his own praise, and 
belieth it not : he is the last in discovering his own 
perfections. 

Yet as a veil addeth to beauty, so are his virtues set off 
by the shade which his modesty casteth upon them. 

But, behold the vain man, and observe the arrogant ; 
he clotheth himself in rich attire, he walketh in the 
public street, he casteth round his eyes, and courteth 
observation. 

He tosseth up his head and overlooketh the poor ; he 
treateth his inferiors with insolence, and his superiors in 
return look down on his pride and folly with laughter. 

He despiseth the judgment of others, he relieth on his 
own opinion and is confounded. 

He is puffed up with the vanity of his imagination ; his 
delight is to hear and to speak of himself all the day 
long. 



114 

He swalloweth with greediness his own praise, and the 
flatterer in return eateth him up, 

(Economy of Human Life, 
application. 

Since the days that are passed are gone for ever, and 
those that are to come, may not come to thee, it behoveth 
thee, O man, to employ the present time, without regret- 
ting the loss of that which is past, or too much depending 
on that which is to come. 

This instant is thine, the next is in the womb of futu- 
rity, and thou knowest not what it may bring forth. 

Whatsoever thou resolvest to do, do it quickly ; defer 
not till the evening what the morning may accomplish. 

Idleness is the parent of want and pain ; but the labour 
of virtue bringeth forth pleasure. 

The hand of diligence defeateth want ; prosperity and 
success are the industrious man's attendants. 

Who is he that hath acquired wealth, and hath risen to 
power, that hath clothed himself with honour, that is spoken 
of in the city with praise, and that standeth before the king 
in his council ? Even he that hath shut out Idleness from his 
house ; and hath said unto Sloth, Thou art mine enemy. 

He riseth up early, and lieth down late ; he exerciseth 
his mind with contemplation, and his body with action, 
and preserveth the health of both. 

The slothful man is a burden to himself, his hours hang 
heavy on his head : he loitereth about, and knoweth not 
what he would do. 



115 

His days pass away like the shadow of a cloud, and he 
leaveth behind him no mark for remembrance. 

His body is diseased for want of exercise ; he wisheth 
for action, but hath not power to move ; his mind is in 
darkness ; his thoughts are confused ; he longeth for 
knowledge, but hath no application. He would eat of the 
almond, but hateth the trouble of breaking its shell. 

His house is in disorder, his servants are wasteful and 
riotous, and he runneth on towards ruin : he seeth it with 
his eyes, he heareth it with his ears, he shaketh his head 
and wisheth, but hath no resolution; till ruin cometh 
upon him like a whirlwind, and shame and repentance 
descend with him to the grave. 

(Economy of Human Life, 
discretion. 

There are many more shining qualities in the mind of 
man, but there is none so useful as discretion. It is this, 
indeed, which gives a value to all the rest ; which sets 
them at work in their proper times and places ; and turns 
them to the advantage of the person who is possessed of 
them. Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit imper- 
tinence ; virtue itself looks like weakness ; the best parts 
only qualify a man to be more sprightly in errors, and 
active to his own prejudice. 

Discretion does not only make a man the master of his 
own parts, but of other men's. The discreet man finds 
out the talents of those he converses with ; and knows how- 
to apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we look into 



116 

particular communities and divisions of men, we may ob- 
serve, that it is the discreet man, not the witty, nor the 
learned, nor the brave, who guides the conversation, and 
gives measures to society. A man with great talents, but 
void of discretion, is like Polyphemus in the fable, strong 
and blind ; endued with an irresistible force, which, for 
want of sight, is of no use to him. 

Though a man have all other perfections, yet if he want 
discretion, he will be of no great consequence in the 
world ; on the contrary, if he have this single talent in 
perfection, and but a common share of others, he may do 
what he pleases in his particular station of life. 

At the same time that I think discretion the most useful 
talent a man can be master of, I look upon cunning to be 
the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous minds. 
Discretion points out the noblest ends to us ; and pursues 
the most proper and laudable methods of obtaining them : 
cunning has only private selfish aims ; and sticks at no- 
thing which may make them succeed. Discretion has 
large and extended views ; and, like a well-formed eye, 
commands a whole horizon : cunning is a kind of short- 
sightedness, that discovers the minutest objects which 
are near at hand, but is not able to discern things at a 
distance. Discretion, the more it is discovered, gives a 
greater authority to the person who possesses it : cunning, 
when once it is detected, loses its force, and makes a man 
incapable of bringing about even those events which he 
might have done, had he passed only for a plain man. 



117 

Discretion is the perfection of reason ; and a guide to us 
in all the duties of life : cunning is a kind of instinct, that 
only looks out after our immediate interest and welfare. 
Discretion is only found in men of strong sense and good 
understandings : cunning is often to be met with in 
brutes themselves, and in persons who are but the fewest 
removes from them. In short, cunning is only the mimic 
of discretion ; and it may pass upon weak men, in the same 
manner as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and gravity 
for wisdom*. Addison. 

CHRISTIANITY. 

The religion of Christ not only arms us with fortitude 
against the approach of evil ; but, supposing evils to fall 
upon us with their heaviest pressure, it lightens the load 
by many consolations to which others are strangers. 
While bad men trace, in the calamities with which they 
are visited, the hand of an offended sovereign, Christians 
are taught to view them as the well-intended chastisements 
of a merciful Father. They hear amidst them, that stilt 
voice which a good conscience brings to their ear: " Fear 
not, for I am with thee ; be not dismayed, for I am thy 
God." They apply to themselves the comfortable pro- 
mises with which the gospel abounds. They discover in 
these the happ} r issue decreed to their troubles ; and wait 
with patience till Providence shall have accomplished its 
$reat and good designs. In the mean time, Devotion 
opens to them its blessed and holy sanctuary in which the 
wounded heart is healed, and the weary mind is at rest ; 



118 

where the cares of the world are forgotten, where its tu- 
mults are hushed, and its miseries disappear; where greater 
objects open to our view than any which the world pre- 
sents ; where a more serene sky shines, and a sweeter and 
calmer light beams on the afflicted heart. In those mo- 
ments of devotion, a pious man, pouring out his wants and 
sorrows to an Almighty Supporter, feels that he is not left 
solitary and forsaken in a vale of woe. God is with him ; 
Christ and the Holy Spirit are with him ; and though he 
should be bereaved of every friend on earth, he can look up 
in heaven to a Friend that will never desert him. Blair, 
suspicion. 
As a suspicious spirit is the source of many crimes and 
calamities in the world, so it is the spring of certain misery 
to the person who indulges it. His friends will be few : 
and small will be his comfort in those whom he possesses. 
Believing others to be his enemies, he will of course make 
them such. Let his caution be ever so great, the asperity 
of his thoughts will often break out in his behaviour; and 
in return for suspecting and hating, he will incur suspicion 
and hatred. Besides the external evils which he draws 
upon himself, arising from alienated friendship, broken 
confidence, and open enmity, the suspicious temper itself 
is one of the worst evils which any man can suffer. If, 
" in all fear there is a torment," how miserable must be his 
state, who, by living in perpetual jealousy, lives in perpe- 
tual dread ! Looking upon himself to be surrounded with 
spies, enemies, and designing men, he is a stranger to re- 



119 

liance and trust. He knows not to whom to open himself. 
He dresses his countenance in forced smiles, while his 
heart throbs within from apprehensions of secret treachery. 
Hence fretfulness and ill-humour, disgust at the world, 
and all the painful sensations of an irritated and imbit- 
tered mind. 

The suspicious man, having his imagination filled with 
all the shocking forms of human falsehood, deceit, and 
treachery, resembles the traveller in the wilderness, who 
discerns no objects around him but such as are either 
dreary or terrible; caverns that open, serpents that hiss, 
and beasts of prey that howl. Blair. 

FORTITUDE. 

Perils, and misfortunes, and want, and pain, and injury? 
are more or less the certain lot of every man that cometh 
into the world. 

Itbehoveth thee, therefore, O child of calamity! early 
to fortify thy mind with courage and patience, that thou 
^mayest support, with a becoming resolution, thy allotted 
portion of human evil. 

As the camel beareth labour, and heat, and hunger, and 
thirst, through deserts of sand, and fainteth not ; so the 
fortitude of man shall sustain him through all perils. 

A man of a noble spirit disdaineth the malice of for- 
tune ; his greatness of soul is not to be cast down, 

He hath not suffered his happiness to depend on her 
smiles, and therefore with her frowns he shall not be dis- 
mayed. 



120 

As a rock on the sea-shore, he standeth firm, and the 
dashing of the waves disturbeth him not. 

He raiseth his head like a tower on a hill, and the ar- 
rows of fortune drop at his feet. 

In the instant of danger the courage of his heart sus- 
taineth him ; and the steadiness of his mind beareth him 
out. 

He meeteth the evils of life as a man that goeth forth 
into battle, and returneth with victory in his hand. 

Under the pressure of misfortunes, his calmness alle- 
viates their weight, and his constancy shall surmount 
them. 

But the dastardly spirit of a timorous man betrayeth 
him to shame. 

As a reed is shaken with a breath of air, so the shadow 
of evil maketh him tremble. 

In the hour of danger he is embarrassed and con- 
founded ; in the day of misfortune he sinketh, and des- 
pair overwhelmeth his soul. 

GEconomy of Human Life, 
forgiveness. 

The most plain and natural sentiments of equity concur 
with divine authority, to enforce the duty of forgiveness : 
for of all the passions which invade the human breast, 
*evenge is the most direful. When allowed to reign with 
mil dominion, it is more than sufficient to poison the few 
pleasures which remain to man in his present state. How 
much Soever a person may suffer from injustice, he is al- 



121 

ways in hazard of suffering more from the prosecution of 
revenge. The violence of an enemy cannot inflict what is 
equal to the torment he creates to himself, by means of 
the fierce and desperate passions which he allows to rage 
in his soul. 

Those evil spirits who inhabit the regions of misery, 
are represented as delighting in revenge and cruelty. 
But all that is great and good in the universe, is on the 
side of clemency and mercy. The Almighty Ruler of 
the world, though for ages offended by the unrighteous- 
ness, and insulted by the impiety of men, is " long suf- 
fering and slow to anger." His Son, when he appeared 
in our nature, exhibited, both in his life and his death, 
the most illustrious example of forgiveness which the 
world ever beheld. If we look into the history of man- 
kind, we shall find that, in every age, they who have 
been respected as worthy, or admired as great, have been 
distinguished for this virtue. Revenge dwells in little 
minds. A noble and magnanimous spirit is always su- 
perior to it. This spirit suffers not from the injuries of 
men those severe shocks which others feel. Collected 
within itself, it stands unmoved by their impotent as- 
saults ; and with generous pity, rather than with anger, 
looks down on their unworthy conduct. — It has been 
truly said, that the greatest man on earth can no sooner 
commit an injury, than a good man can make himself 
greater by forgiving it. Blair. 

G 



122 



PART THE FIFTH. 



JL he student is'now presented with a few short Essays, 
by eminent writers, to be analyzed according to the ar- 
rangement exhibited in the first three parts of this work. 
In each of the following compositions, there are a defini- 
tion, judgment, and arguments, which the pupil will select 
and write separately. He- should also carefully examine 
the connection by which all the parts are holden together, 
and may, by degrees, endeavour to transpose the order of 
the reasoning. He will thus discover either the imper- 
fections of the form in which they now appear, or he will 
observe the strength they possess from a judicious mode 
of disposition. 

THE SEASONS. 

Among the great blessings and wonders of the creation, 
may be classed the regularities of times and seasons. Im- 
mediately after the flood, the sacred promise was made to 



123 

man, that seed-time and harvest, cold and heat, summer 
and winter, day and night, should continue to the very end 
of all things. Accordingly, in obedience to that promise, 
the rotation is constantly presenting us with some useful 
and agreeable alteration : and all the pleasing novelty of 
life rises from these natural changes : nor are we less in- 
debted to them for many of its solid comforts. It has been 
frequently the task of the moralist and poet, to mark in 
polished periods, the particular charms and conveniences 
of every change ; and, indeed, such discriminate ob- 
servations upon natural variety, cannot be undelightful ; 
since the blessing which every month brings along with 
it, is a fresh instance of the wisdom and bounty of that 
Providence, which regulates the glories of the year. We 
glow as we contemplate ; we feel a propensity to adore, 
whilst we enjoy. In the time of seed-sowing, it is the 
season of confidence ; the grain which the husbandman 
trusts to the bosom of the earth, shall, haply, yield its 
seven-fold rewards. Spring presents us with a scene of 
lively expectation. That which was before sown, begins 
now to discover signs of successful vegetation. The 
labourer observes the change, and anticipates the harvest; 
he watches the progress of nature, and smiles at her in- 
fluence : while the man of contemplation walks forth with 
the evening, amidst the fragrance of flowers, and pro- 
mises of plenty ; nor returns to his cottage till darkness 
closes the scene upon his eye. Then cometh the harvest, 
when the large wish is satisfied, and the granaries of 

g 2 



124 

nature are loaded with the means of life, even to a luxury 
of abundance. The powers of language are unequal to 
the description of this happy season. It is the carnival 
of nature : sun and shade, coolness and quietude, cheer- 
fulness and melody, love and gratitude, unite to render 
every scene of summer delightful. — The division of light 
and darkness is one of the kindest efforts of Omnipotent 
wisdom. Day and night yield us contrary blessings ; and, 
at the same time, assist each other, by giving fresh lustre 
to the delights of both. Amidst the glare of day, and 
bustle of life, how could we sleep ? Amidst the gloom of 
darkness, how could we labour ? 

How wise, how benignant, then, is the proper division ! 
The hours of light are adapted to activity ; and those of 
darkness, to rest. Ere the day is passed, exercise and 
nature prepare us for the pillow ; and by the time that 
the morning returns, we are again able to meet it with a 
smile. Thus, every season has a charm peculiar to itself; 
and every moment affords some interesting innovation. 

THE STUDY OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES. 

The great laws of morality are written in our hearts, 
and may be discovered by reason ; but our reason is of 
slow growth, and very unequally dispensed to different 
persons, liable to error, and confined within very narrow 
limits in all. If, therefore, God have vouchsafed to grant 
a particular revelation of his will, it becomes us to receive 
his precepts with the deepest reverence; to love and prize 
18 



125 

them above all things ; and to study them constantly, with 
an earnest desire to conform our thoughts, words, and 
actions to them. 

As you advance in years and understanding, you will be 
able to examine for yourself the evidences of the Christian 
religion, and be convinced, on rational grounds, of its di- 
vine authority. At present such inquiries would demand 
more study, and greater powers of reasoning, than your 
age admits. It is your part, therefore, till you are capable 
of understanding the proofs, to believe your parents and 
teachers, that the holy Scriptures contain a true history 
of facts, a true recital of the laws given by God to Moses, 
and of the precepts of our blessed Lord and Saviour, 
delivered from his own mouth to his disciples, and re- 
peated and enlarged upon in the edifying epistles of his 
apostles. 

This sacred volume must be the rule of your life. In 
it you will find all truths necessary to be believed ; and 
plain and easy directions for the practice of every duty. 
Your Bible must be your chief study and delight. 

YOUTH. 

Youth is the season to form religious habits ; the earliest 
principles are generally the most lasting ; and those of a 
religious cast are seldom wholly lost. Though the tempt- 
ations of the world may now and then draw the well- 
principled youth aside ; yet, his principles being continu- 
ally at war with his practice, there is hope, that in the 

g 3 



126 

end the better part may overcome the worse, and bring 
on a reformation : whereas he who has suffered habits of 
vice to get possession of his youth, has little chance of 
being brought back to a sense of religion. Some calamity 
must rouse him. He must be awakened by a storm, or 
sleep for ever. How much better it is, then, to make 
that easy to us which we know is best! and to form 
those habits now, which hereafter we shall wish we had 
formed ! 

Youth is introductory to manhood, to which it is, pro- 
perly speaking, a state of preparation. During this season 
we must qualify ourselves for the parts we are to act 
hereafter. In manhood we bear the fruit which has in 
youth been planted. If we have sauntered away our 
youth we must expect to be ignorant men. If indolence 
and inattention have taken an early possession of us, they 
will probably increase as we advance in life, and make 
us a burden to ourselves, and useless to society. If, 
again, we suffer ourselves to be misled by vicious in- 
clinations, they will daily get new strength, and end in 
dissolute lives. 

But if we cultivate our minds in youth, and attain ha- 
bits of attention and industry, of virtue and sobriety, we 
shall find ourselves well prepared to act our future parts 
in life ; and, what above all things ought to be our care, 
by gaining this command over ourselves, we shall be more 
able, as we get forward in the world, to resist every new 
temptation as soon as it appears. Gilpin. 



127 

FILIAL AFFECTION. 

We may venture to assert, that if a man has any well- 
wishers, any benefactors on earth to whom he is bound 
by indissoluble ties of gratitude, his parents are the 
persons. 

Indeed one is willing to think, that many of those 
young people whose behaviour is so blameable, are not 
sensible of the uneasiness it occasions, nor at all aware 
how much anguish is endured oh their account. 

They run heedlessly forward in the broad and open 
path, and have no thought but of the pleasure they are 
pursuing. 

Yet stop, young man, we beg, a little, to look towards 
thy poor parents. Think it not too much to bestow a 
moment's reflection upon those who never forgot thee. 
Recollect what they have done for thee. Remember all — 
all indeed thou canst not ; alas ! ill had been thy lot, 
had not their care of thee begun before thou couldst 
remember, or know any thing. 

Now so proud, self-willed, inexorable, thou couldst 
then only ask by wailing, and move them with thy tears. 
And they were moved : their heart was touched with thy 
distress ; they relieved and watched thy wants, before thou 
knewest thine own necessities or their kindness : they 
clothed thee ; thou knewest not that thou wast naked : 
thou askedst not for bread ; but they fed thee. And ever 
since, in short, (for the particulars are too many to be re- 
counted, and too many surely to be all utterly forgotten,) 

g 4 



128 

it has been the very principal endeavour, employment, 
and study of their lives, to do service to thee. 

And remember, for this too is of moment, it is all out 
of pure, unfeigned affection* Other friends mostly expect 
their civilities to be repaid, and their kind offices returned 
with interest : but parents have no thoughts like these. 
They seek not thine, but thee. Their regard is real, and 
hearty, and undesigning. They have no reflex views upon 
themselves, no oblique glances towards their own interest. 
If by all their endeavours they can obtain their child's 
welfare, they arrive at the full accomplishment of their 
wishes. They have no higher object of their ambition. 
Be thou but happy, and they are so. 

And now tell me : is not something to be done, I do 
not now say for thyself, but for them ? If it be too 
much to desire of thee to be good, and wise, and vir- 
tuous, and happy, for thy own sake ; yet be happy for 
theirs. Think that a sober, upright, and, let me add, a 
religious life, besides the blessings it will bring upon thy 
own head, will be a fountain of unfailing comfort to thy 
declining parents, and make the heart of the aged sing 
for joy. 

What shall we say ? Which of these is happier ; the 
son that maketh a glad father, or the father blessed with 
such a son ? 

Fortunate young man ! who hast a heart open so early 
to virtuous delights : and canst find thy own happiness, 
in returning thy father's blessings upon his own head. 



129 

And happy father I whose years have been prolonged, 
not (as it often happens) to see his comforts fall from him 
one after another, and to become at once old and destitute ; 
but to taste a new pleasure, not to be found among the 
pleasures of youth, reserved for his age; to reap the har- 
vest of all his cares and labour, in the duty, affection, and 
felicity, of his dear child. His very look bespeaks the 
inward satisfaction of his heart. The infirmities of age sit 
light on him. He feels not the troubles of life : he smiles 
at the approach of death ; sees himself still living aad 
honoured in the memory and the person of his son, his 
other dearer self; and passes down to the receptacle of 
all the living, in the fulness of content and joy. 

Ogden. 
the harmony of nature. 

Throughout the universe there is a wonderful propor- 
tioning of one thing to another. The size of animals, of 
man especially, when considered with respect to other 
animals, or to the plants which grow around him, is such 
as a regard to his conveniency would have pointed out. 
A giant or a pigmy could not have milked goats, reaped 
corn, or mowed grass: a giant could not have rode a 
horse, trained a vine, or shorn a sheep, with the same 
bodily ease as we do, if at all. A pigmy would have 
been lost among rushes or carried off by birds of prey. 

It may be observed, likewise, that, the model and the 
materials of the human body being what they are, a much 
greater bulk would have broken down by its own weight. 

g 5 



130 

The persons of men who much exceed the ordinary sta- 
ture betray this tendency. 

How close is the suitableness of the earth and sea to 
their several inhabitants, and of these inhabitants, to the 
places of their appointed residence ! 

Take the earth as it is ; and consider the correspond- 
ency of the powers of its inhabitants, with the properties 
and condition of the soil which they tread. Take the 
inhabitants as they are ; and consider the circumstances 
which the earth yields for their use. They can open its 
surface; and its surface supplies all which they want- 
Such is the length of their faculties, and such the con* 
stitution of the globe, that this is sufficient for all their 
occasions. 

When we pass from the earth to the sea, from land to 
water, we pass through a great change ; but an adequate 
change accompanies us of animal forms and functions, of 
animal capacities and wants. The earth in its nature is 
very different from the sea, and the sea from the earth; 
but one accords with its inhabitants as exactly as the 
other: and the correspondency instituted by Divine 
Wisdom pervades and harmonizes the whole. Paley. 

ADVERSITY. 

In every age, adversity has been respected as the school 
of virtue. There the world is unmasked : there the voice 
of conscience is heard : and the claims of futurity are 
felt. There, if any where, we are taught humility : the 



131 

tear of penitence begins to flow ; the soul is attuned to 
sympathy : fortitude and self-command are called forth : 
resignation bows submissive to the decree of Providence ; 
while faith and hope lift our views and desires to heaven. 

From the vale of sorrow, how changed, how refined, 
do we return to the active and pleasurable scenes of life ! 
As the verdure and fragrance succeeding to a summer's 
shower ; so pure and serene, so rich in virtue, so flourish- 
ing in every generous sentiment and endearing quality, is 
the mind which affliction has impregnated with the seed 
of celestial happiness ! 

Cease then, O man, to arraign the wisdom and goodness 
of thy Maker : and rather learn to follow the example of 
his Providence, by extracting from the most bitter plants 
their concealed virtues. With a heart full of grateful ado- 
ration, look up to him, both when he pours upon thee the 
bright beams of joy, and when, with the same benevolent 
design, he raises the cloud of sorrow. Houghton. 

DIFFIDENCE OF OUR ABILITIES, A MARK OF WISDOM. 

As an absolute perfection of understanding is impossi- 
ble, he makes the nearest approaches to it, who has the 
sense to discern, and the humility to acknowledge, its im- 
perfections. Modesty always sits gracefully upon youth : 
it covers a multitude of faults, and doubles the lustre of 
every virtue which it seems to hide : the perfections of men 
being like those flowers which appear more beautiful, 
when their leaves are a little contracted and folded up, 

g 6 



132 

than when they are full blown, and display themselves, 
without any reserve, to the view. 

We are some of us very fond of knowledge, and apt to 
value ourselves upon any proficiency in the sciences. One 
science, however, there is, worth more than all the rest, 
and that is the science of living well ; which shall remain, 
when " tongues shall cease," and " knowledge shall va- 
nish away." As to new notions, and new doctrines, of 
which this age is very fruitful, the time will come, when 
w r e shall have no pleasure in them : nay, the time shall 
come, when they shall be exploded, and would have been 
forgotten, if they had not been preserved in those excel- 
lent books which contain a confutation of them ; like in- 
sects preserved for ages in amber, which otherwise would 
soon have returned to the common mass of things. But a 
firm belief of Christianity, and a practice suitable to it, will 
support and invigorate the mind to the last ; and most of 
all, at last, at that important hour, which must decide our 
hopes and apprehensions : and the wisdom, which, like 
our Saviour, cometh from above, will, through his merits, 
bring us thither. All our other studies and pursuits, how- 
ever different, ought to be subservient to, and centre in, 
this grand point, the pursuit of eternal happiness, by being 
good in ourselves, and useful to the world. Seed. 

THE DISTRIBUTION OF OUR TIME. 

The portion of time which God has allotted us, is in- 
tended partly for the concerns of this world, partly for 



133 

those of the next. Let each of these occupy, fn the dis- 
tribution of our time, that space which properly belongs to 
it. Let not the hours of hospitality and pleasure interfere 
with the discharge of our necessary affairs ; and let not 
what we call necessary affairs, encroach upon the time 
which is due to devotion. To every thing there is a sea- 
son, and a time for every purpose under the heaven. If 
we delay till to-morrow what ought to be done to-day, we 
overcharge to-morrow with a burden which belongs not 
to it. We load the wheels of time, and prevent them from 
carrying us along smoothly. He who every morning plans 
the transactions of the day, and follows out that plan, 
carries on a thread which will guide him through the la- 
byrinth of the most busy life. The orderly arrangement 
of his time is like a ray of light, which darts itself through 
all his affairs. But where no plan is laid, where the dis- 
posal of time is surrendered merely to the chance of in- 
cidents, all things lie huddled together in one chaos, 
which admits neither of distribution nor review. 

Blair, 
human life. 
Human life is as the journey of a day. We rise in the 
morning of youth, full of vigour and full of expectation ; 
we set forward with spirit and hope, with gaiety and with 
diligence, and travel on awhile in the direct road of piety 
towards the mansion of rest. In a short time, we remit 
our fervour, and endeavour to find some mitigation of our 
duty, and some more easy means of obtaining the same 



134 

end. We then relax our vigour, and resolve no longer to 
be terrified with crimes at a distance : but rely upon our 
own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve 
never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and 
repose on the shades of security. Here the heart softens, 
and vigilance subsides ; we are then willing to enquire whe- 
ther another advance cannot be made, and whether we 
may not, at least, turn our eyes upon the gardens of plea- 
sure. We approach them with scruple and hesitation ; we 
enter them, but enter timorous and trembling ; and always 
hope to pass through them without losing the road of vir- 
tue, which, for a while we keep in our sight, and to which 
we propose to return. But temptation succeeds tempta- 
tion, and one compliance prepares us for another ; we in 
time lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our dis- 
quiet with sensual gratifications. By degrees, we let fall 
the remembrance of our original intention, and quit the 
only adequate object of rational desire. We entangle 
ourselves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and 
rove through the labyrinth of inconstancy ; till the dark- 
ness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and 
anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our 
lives with horror, with sorrow, with repentance ; and wish, 
but too often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the 
ways of virtue. Happy are they, my son, who shall learn 
from thy example not to despair; but shall remember, 
that though the day is past, and their strength is wasted,, 
there yet remains one effort to be made : that reformation 



135 

is never helpless, nor sincere endeavours ever unassisted : 
that the wanderer may at length return after all his 
errors ; and that he who implores strength and courage 
from above, shall find danger and difficulty give way 
before him. Dr. Johnson. 



136 



APPENDIX. 



J. here are several specimens of composition, which, 
from their nature, cannot be reduced to the structure of a 
theme. Narratives, descriptions, and familiar letters, are 
of this character. There are also many choice specimens 
of writing, which, although of a class that generally ad- 
mits such an arrangement, yet have the distinct parts so 
ngeniously interwoven as to render the separation of 
them from each other very difficult. 

That students and tutors may have an opportunity of 
examining such instances of composition, this Appendix 
is made. 

I know it has been said that narrative is the easiest 
mode of writing. I am not anxious to conceal that my 
opinion is directly otherwise ; and as I have never seen 
any practical rule for commencing a narrative, I am the 
more inclined to continue my opinion. In subjects for dis- 



137 

cussion there is always a distinct point upon which the 
mind is immediately fixed ; and clear and practical pre- 
cepts, if precepts were necessary, w r ould direct the under- 
standing to that point. But in the beginning of a narrative 
it is extremely difficult to determine at which of the cir- 
cumstances that form the account the interest and perspi- 
cuity of the relation commences. I think, however, it is 
a very good practice for young persons to take the out- 
line of a story, and put it into their own language ; and 
they should afterwards compare their composition with the 
same story as told by an approved writer. It is unneces- 
sary to name suitable subjects. The discretion of teachers 
can best determine the examples which are adapted to 
the capacities of their scholars. 

MAN. 

Man, considered in himself, is a very helpless and a 
very wretched being. He is subject every moment to the 
greatest calamities and misfortunes. He is beset with 
dangers on all sides, and may become unhappy by num- 
berless casualties, which he could not foresee, nor have 
prevented, had he foreseen them. 

It is our comfort, while we are obnoxious to so many 
accidents, that we are under the care of one who directs 
contingencies, and has in his hands the management of 
every thing that is capable of annoying or offending us ; 
who knows the assistance we stand in need of, and is al- 
ways ready to bestow it on those who ask it of him. 



138 

The natural homage, which such a creature bears to so 
infinitely wise and good a Being, is a firm reliance on him 
for the blessings and conveniences of life, and an habitual 
trust in him for deliverance out of all such dangers and 
difficulties as may befall us. Addison. 

ACCOUNT OF THE EXECUTION OF KING CHARLES THE 

FIRST. 

The street before Whitehall was the place destined for the 
execution ; for it was intended, by choosing that very place, 
in sight of his own palace, to display more evidently the 
triumph of popular justice over royal majesty. When the 
king came upon the scaffold, he found it so surrounded with 
soldiers, that he could not expect to be heard by any of the 
people : he addressed, therefore, his discourse to the few 
persons who were about him; particularly Colonel Tomlin- 
son, to whose care he had lately been committed, and upon 
whom, as upon many others, his amiable deportment had 
wrought an entire conversion. He justified his own inno- 
cence in the late fatal wars, and observed that he had not 
taken arms till after the parliament had enlisted forces; nor 
had he any other object in his warlike operations than to 
preserve that authority entire, which his predecessors had 
transmitted to him. He threw not, however, the blame 
upon the parliament ; but was more inclined to think that 
ill instruments had interposed, and raised in them fears 
and jealousies with regard to his intentions. Though inno- 
cent towards his people, he acknowledged the equity of 



139 

his execution in the eyes of his Maker ; and observed that 
an unjust sentence, which he had suffered to take effect, 
was now punished by an unjust sentence on himself. He 
forgave all his enemies, even the chief instruments of his 
death ; but exhorted them and the whole nation to return 
to the ways of peace, by paying obedience to their lawful 
sovereign his son and successor. — At one blow was his 
head severed from his body. A man in a vizor performed 
the office of executioner : another, in a like disguise, held 
up to the spectators the head streaming with blood, and 
cried aloud, This is the head of a traitor. 

It is impossible to describe the grief, indignation, and 
astonishment, which took place, not only among the spec- 
tators, who were overwhelmed with a flood of sorrow, but 
throughout the whole nation, as soon as the report of this 
fatal execution was conveyed to them. Never monarch, 
in the full triumph of success and victory, was more dear 
to his people, than his misfortunes and magnanimity, his 
patience and piety, had rendered this unhappy prince. In 
proportion to their former delusions, which had animated 
them against him, was the violence of their return to duty 
and affection ; while each reproached himself, either with 
active disloyalty towards him, or with too indolent defence 
of his oppressed cause. On weaker minds, the effect of 
these complicated passions was prodigious. Women are 
said to have cast forth the untimely fruit of their womb ; 
others fell into convulsions, or sunk into such a melancholy 
as attended them to their grave : nay, some, unmindful of 



140 

themselves, as though they could not, or would not, sur- 
vive their beloved prince, it is reported, suddenly fell 
down dead. The very pulpits were bedewed with uri- 
suborned tears ; those pulpits which had formerly thun- 
dered out the most violent imprecations and anathemas 
against him. And all men united in their detestation of 
those hypocritical parricides, who, by sanctified pre- 
tences, had so long disguised their treasons, and in this 
last act of iniquity had thrown an indelible stain upon 
the nation. , Hume. 

pity. 

As blossoms and flowers are strewed upon earth by 
the hand of spring, as the kindness of summer pro- 
duceth in perfection the bounties of harvest; so the 
smiles of pity shed blessings on the children of mis- 
fortune. 

He who pitieth another recommendeth himself; but he 
who is without compassion deserveth it not. 

The butcher relenteth not at the bleating of the 
lamb ; neither is the heart of the cruel moved with 
distress. 

But the tears of the compassionate are sweeter than 
dew-drops falling from roses on the bosom of the 
spring. 

Shut not thine ear therefore against the cries of the 
poor ; neither harden thine heart against the calamities of 
the innocent. 

When the fatherless call upon thee, when the widow's 



141 

heart is sunk, and she imploreth thy assistance with tears 
of sorrow ; O pity her affliction, and extend thy hand to 
those who have none to help them. 

When thou seest the naked wanderer of the street, 
shivering with cold, and destitute of habitation ; let 
bounty open thine heart, let the wings of charity shelter 
him from death, that thine own soul may live. 

Whilst the poor man groaneth on the bed of sickness, 
whilst the unfortunate languish in the horrors of a dun- 
geon, or the hoary head of age lifts up a feeble eye to 
thee for pity ; O how canst thou riot in superfluous en- 
joyments, regardless of their wants, unfeeling of their 
woes ? Economy of Human Life. 

GENERAL RULES FOR THE ATTAINMENT OF 
KNOWLEDGE. 

Deeply impress your mind with the vast importance of 
a sound judgment, and the rich and inestimable advan- 
tage of right reasoning. Review the instances of your 
own misconduct in life, and observe how many follies and 
sorrows you had escaped, if from your early years you 
had taken due pains to judge aright concerning persons, 
times, and things. This will awaken you to the work of 
improving your reasoning powers, and of seizing every 
opportunity and advantage for this end. 

Read the accounts of those vast treasures of knowledge 
which some of the dead have possessed, and some of the 
living do possess, and be astonished at the almost incredible 



142 

advances that have been made in science. Acquaint your- 
self with some persons of great learning, that, by com- 
paring yourself with them, you may acquire a just opinion 
of your own attainments, and be animated with a generous 
and laudable emulation to equal or exceed them. But re- 
member, if upon a few superficial acquirements you value 
and exalt yourself, as though you were already learned, 
you are thereby erecting an impassable barrier against all 
improvement. 

Presume not too much upon a bright genius, a ready 
wit, and good parts ; for these, without labour and study, 
will never make a man of knowledge and wisdom. Per- 
sons of a gay and vigorous fancy have often fallen into this 
mistake. They have been acknowledged to shine in an 
assembly, and sparkle in a discourse upon common topics, 
and thence have resolved to abandon reading and study : 
but when they had lost the vivacity of animal nature and 
youth, they became stupid and sottish, even to contempt 
and ridicule. It is meditation, and studious thought, that 
gives good sense even to the best genius. 

Exercise your reason and judgment upon all you read ; 
for, if your learning be a mere accumulation of what others 
have written, without a due penetration into the meaning, 
and a judicious choice and determination of your own sen- 
timents, your head has little better title to true knowledge 
than the shelves of your library. 

Do not hover always on the surfaces of things, or take 
up suddenly with mere appearances, for this will fill the 



143 

mind with errors and prejudices, and give it an ill habit 
of thinking : but penetrate into the depth of matters as 
far as your time and circumstances will allow. 

Once a day, especially in the early years of life and 
study, examine what new ideas you have gained, and 
what advances you have made in any part of knowledge, 
and let no day, if possible, pass away without some in- 
tellectual gain. It was a sacred rule among the Pytha- 
goreans, that they should every evening run thrice over 
the actions and affairs of the day, and examine what their 
conduct had been, what they had done, and what they 
had neglected : assured that, by this method, they would 
make a rapid progress in the path of knowledge and virtue. 

Watts. 

account or the admirable crichton.* 
Virtue, says Virgil, is better accepted when it comes in 
a pleasing form. The person of Crichton was eminently 
beautiful ; but his beauty was consistent with such activity 
and strength, that in fencing he would spring at one bound 
the length of twenty feet upon his antagonist ; and he used 
the sword in either hand with such force and dexterity, 
that scarce any one had courage to engage him. 

Having studied at St. Andrew's, in Scotland, he went to 
Paris in his twenty-first year, and affixed on the gate of 
the college of Navarre a kind of challenge to the learned 



* This youthful prodigy, according to the best authorities, lived 
from about 1560 to 1582. 



144 

of that university, to dispute with them on a certain day : 
offering to his opponents the choice of ten languages, 
and of all the faculties and sciences. On the day ap- 
pointed, three thousand auditors assembled, when four 
doctors of the church and fifty ministers appeared against 
him : and one of his antagonists confesses that the doctors 
were defeated ; that he gave proofs of knowledge beyond 
the reach of man, and that a hundred years passed without 
food or sleep would not be sufficient for the attainment of 
his learning. After a disputation of nine hours, he was 
presented by the president and professors with a diamond 
and a purse of gold, and dismissed with repeated acclam- 
ations. 

From Paris he went to Rome, where he made the 
same challenge, and had, in the presence of the 'pope 
and cardinals, the same success. He then visited Padua, 
where he engaged in another public disputation, begin- 
ning his performance with an extempore poem in praise 
of the city and the assembly present, and concluding 
with an oration equally unpremeditated in commendation 
of ignorance. 

These acquisitions of learning, however stupendous, 
were not gained by the omission of any accomplishment 
in which it becomes a gentleman to excel. He practised, 
in great perfection, the arts of drawing and painting ; he 
was an eminent performer in both vocal and instrumental 
music ; he danced with uncommon gracefulness ; and on 
the day after his deputations Paris, exhibited his skill in 



145 

horsemanship before the court of France, where, at a pub- 
lic match of tilting, he bore away the ring upon his lance 
fifteen times together. He excelled likewise in domestic 
games of less dignity and reputation ; and in the interval 
between his challenge and disputation at Paris, he spent 
so much of his time at cards, dice, and tennis, that a 
lampoon was fixed upon the gate of the Sorbonne, di- 
recting those who would see this monster of erudition 
to look for him at the tavern. 

So extensive was his acquaintance with life and man- 
ners, that in an Italian comedy composed by himself a 
and exhibited before the court of Mantua, he is said to 
have personated fifteen different characters. His me- 
mory was so retentive, that, hearing an oration of an 
hour, he would repeat it exactly, and in the recital 
follow the speaker through all the variety of tone and 
gesticulation. 

Nor was his skill in arms less than in learning, or his 
courage inferior to his skill. There was a prize-fighter 
at Mantua, who had defeated the most celebrated masters 
in many parts of Europe ; and in Mantua had killed three 
who had appeared against him. Crichton, looking on his 
sanguinary success with indignation, offered to stake fif- 
teen hundred pistoles, and mount the stage against him. 
The duke of Mantua with some reluctance consented; and 
on the day fixed the combatants appeared. The prize- 
fighter advanced with great violence and fierceness, while 
Crichton contented himself calmly to ward his passes, and 

H 



146 

suffered him to waste his vigour by his own fury. Crichton 
then pressed upon him with such force and agility, that he 
thrust him thrice through the body, and saw him expire. 
He then divided the prize he had won among the widows 
whose husbands had been killed. 

The duke of Mantua having received such proofs of 
his various merit, made him tutor to his son Vicencio 
di Gonzaga, a prince of loose manners and a turbulent 
disposition. But his honour was of short duration ; for, 
as he was one night, in the time of Carnival, rambling 
about the streets with his guitar in his hand, he was at- 
tacked by six men masked, and opposed them with such 
vigour and address, that he dispersed them, and disarmed 
their leader, who, throwing off his mask, discovered him- 
self to be the prince his pupil. Crichton falling on his 
knees, presented his own sword to the prince, who seized 
it, and instigated, as some say, by jealousy, according to 
others only by drunken fury, thrust him through the 
heart. 

The court of Mantua testified their esteem for the 
memory of Crichton by a public mourning, and the palaces 
of Italy were adorned with pictures, representing him on 
horseback, with a lance in one hand, and a book in the 
other. Adventurer. 

THE GROTTO OF ANTIPAR03. 

Of all the subterraneous caverns now known, the grotto 
of Antiparos, an inconsiderable island in the Archipelago, 
is the most remarkable, as well for its extent as for the 



147 

beauty of its sparry incrustations. This celebrated cavern 
was first explored by one Magni, an Italian traveller, in 
the seventeenth century. 

" Having been informed," says he, " by the natives of 
Paros, that in the little island of Antiparos, which lies 
about two miles from the former, a gigantic statue was 
to be seen at the mouth of a cavern, the French consul 
and myself resolved to pay it a visit. 

^ After we had landed on the island, and walked about 
four miles through the midst of beautiful plains and 
sloping woodlands, we at length came to a little hill, on 
the side of which yawned a horrible cavern, that by its 
gloom struck us with terror, and almost repressed curio- 
sity. Recovering the first surprise, however, we entered 
boldly ; and had not proceeded above twenty paces, when 
the supposed statue of the giant presented itself to our 
view. We quickly perceived, that what the ignorant 
natives had been terrified at as a giant, was nothing more 
than a sparry concretion formed by the water dropping 
from the roof of the cave, and by degrees hardening 
into a figure which their fears had transformed into a 
monster. 

" Incited by this extraordinary appearance, we were 
induced to proceed still further into this subterranean 
abode. As we proceeded, new wonders offered them- 
selves : the spars, formed into trees and shrubs, presented 
a kind of petrified grove ; some white, some green, and 
all receding in due perspective. They struck us with 

h 2 



148 

the more amazement, as we knew them to be mere pro- 
ductions of Nature, who, hitherto, in solitude, had in 
her playful moments dressed the scene as if for her own 
amusement. 

" We had yet seen but a few of the wonders of the place, 
and were introduced only into the portico of this amazing 
temple. In one corner of this half-illuminated recess, 
there appeared an opening about three feet wide, which 
seemed to lead to a place totally dark, and which one 
of the native:, assured us contained nothing more than a 
reservoir of water. Upon this information we made an 
experiment by throwing down some stones, which rum- 
bling along the side of the descent for some time, the 
sound seemed at last quashed in a bed of water. 

" In order, however, to be more certain, we sent in 
a Levantine mariner, who, on the promise of a good 
reward, ventured with a flambeau in his hand into this 
narrow aperture. After continuing within it for about 
a quarter of an hour, he returned, bearing in his hand 
some beautiful pieces of white spar, which art could 
neither equal nor imitate. Upon being informed by him 
that the place was full of those beautiful incrustations, I 
ventured in with him about fifty paces, anxiously and 
cautiously descending by a steep and dangerous way. 
Finding, however, that we came to a precipice, which led 
into a spacious amphitheatre, if I may so call it, still 
deeper than any other part, we returned ; and being pro- 
vided with a ladder, torch, and other things to expedite 



149 

the descent, our whole company, one by one, ventured 
into the same opening ; and descending one after another, 
we at last saw ourselves all together, in the most mag- 
nificent part of the cavern. 

" Our candles being now all lighted up, and the whole 
place completely illuminated, never could the eye be pre- 
sented with a more glittering or a more magnificent 
scene. The whole roof hung with solid icicles, transpa- 
rent as glass, yet as hard as marble. The eye could scarcely 
reach the lofty and noble ceiling ; the sides were regularly 
formed of spars, and the whole presented the idea of a 
superb theatre, illuminated by an immense profusion of 
lights. The floor consisted of solid marble, and in several 
places magnificent columns, thrones, altars, and other 
objects, appeared as if nature had designed to mock the 
curious productions of art. Our voices, upon speaking or 
singing, were redoubled to an astonishing loudness; and 
upon the firing of a gun the noise and reverberations 
were almost deafening. 

" In the midst of this grand amphitheatre rose a con- 
cretion, about fifteen feet high, that in some measure 
resembled an altar ; and we caused mass to be celebrated 
there. The beautiful columns that shot up round the 
altar appeared like candlesticks ; and many other na- 
tural objects represented the customary ornaments of 
this rite. 

" Below even this spacious grotto there seemed another 
cavern, down which I ventured with my former mariner, 

h 3 



150 

and descended about fifty paces by means of a rope. I 
at last arrived at a small spot of level ground, where the 
bottom appeared different from that of the amphitheatre, 
being composed of some clay, yielding to the pressure, 
and into which I thrust a stick to the depth of six feet. 
In this, however, as above, numbers of the most beautiful 
crystals were formed ; one of which particularly re- 
sembled a table. 

" Upon our egress from this amazing cavern, we per- 
ceived a Greek inscription upon a rock at the mouth, 
but so obliterated by time that we could not read it dis- 
tinctly. It seemed to import, that one Antipater had come 
hither ; but whether he penetrated into the depths of the 
cavern he does not think fit to inform us." This account 
of so beautiful and striking a scene, may serve to give us 
some idea of the subterraneous wonders of nature. 

Goldsmith. 

different methods of improving in knowlege. 
There are five eminent means, or methods, whereby 
the mind is improved in knowledge ; and these are, Ob- 
servation, Reading, Instruction by Lectures, Convers- 
ation, and Meditation : the last of which is in a more 
peculiar manner called Study. 

Observation is the notice that we take of all occur- 
rences in human life, whether they be sensible or intellec- 
tual : whether relating to persons or things, to ourselves 
or to others. It is this that furnishes us even from our 



151 

infancy with a rich variety of ideas, propositions, words, 
and phrases. It is by this we know that fire will burn, that 
the sun gives light, that a horse eats grass, that an acorn 
produces an oak, that man is a being capable of reasoning 
and discourse, that our bodies die and are carried to the 
grave, and that one generation succeeds another. All 
those things which we see, which we hear or feel, which 
we perceive by sense or consciousness, or which we know 
in a direct manner with scarcely any exercise of our re- 
flecting faculties or our reasoning powers, may be in- 
cluded under the general name of observation. 

Reading is that method whereby we acquaint ourselves 
with what other men have published to the world in 
their compositions. The arts oi reading and writing are 
of infinite advantage ; for by them we are made partakers 
of the sentiments, observations, reasonings, and improve- 
ments, of all the learned world, in the most remote 
nations and in former ages, almost from the beginning 
of mankind. 

Public or private lectures are such verbal instructions 
as are given by a teacher, while the learners attend in si- 
lence. We learn in this manner religion from the pulpit ; 
philosophy or theology from the professor's chair ; and 
mathematics, by a teacher showing us various theorems 
and problems ; that is, speculations or practices, by de- 
monstration and operation, with all the instruments of art 
necessary to those operations. 

h 4- 



152 

Conversation is another method of improving our minds, 
wherein by mutual discourse and enquiry, we learn the 
sentiments of others, as well as communicate our senti- 
ments to others in the same manner. Sometimes, indeed, 
the advantage is only on one side ; as when a teacher and 
a learner meet and discourse together ; but frequently the 
profit is mutual. Under the head of conversation we rank 
disputations of various kinds. 

Meditation, or study, includes those exercises of the 
mind, whereby we render all the former methods useful 
for our increase in true knowledge and wisdom. It is by 
meditation we confirm our remembrance of things, of our 
own experience, and of the observations we make. It is 
by meditation that we draw various inferences, and esta- 
blish in our minds general principles of knowledge. It is 
by meditation that we fix in our memory whatever we 
learn, and form our own judgment of the truth or false- 
hood, the strength or weakness, of what others speak or 
write. It is meditation, or study, that draws out long 
chains of argument, and searches and finds deep and dif- 
ficult truths, which before lay concealed in darkness. 

Each of these five methods has its peculiar advantages, 
by which it materially assists the others ; and its peculiar 
defects, which need to be supplied by the assistance of 
the rest. Watts. 

RULES FOR IMPROVING THE MIND. 

Let the enlargement of your knowledge be one constant 



153 

view and design in life : since there is no time or place, no 
transaction, occurrence, or engagement, which excludes 
us from this method of improving the mind. 

When we are in the house or in the city, wherever we 
turn our eyes we see the works of men ; when w T e are in 
the country we behold more of the w T orks of God. The 
skies, the ground above and beneath us, and the animal 
and vegetable world round about us, may entertain our 
observation with ten thousand varieties. 

From observation of the day and the night, the hours 
and the flying minutes, learn a wise improvement of time, 
and be watchful to seize every opportunity to increase in 
knowledge. 

From the vices and follies of others, observe what is 
hateful in them ; consider how such a practice looks in 
another person, and remember, that it looks as ill or 
worse in yourself. From their virtues learn something 
worthy of your imitation. 

From your natural powers, sensation, judgment, me- 
mory, hands, feet, &c. make this inference ; that they 
were not given you for nothing, but for some useful 
employment, for the good of your fellow-creatures, your 
own best interest, and final happiness. 

Thus, from every appearance in nature, and from every 
occurrence of life, you may derive natural, moral, and re- 
ligious observations to entertain your minds, as well as 
rules of conduct in the affairs relating to this life, and that 
which is to come. 

H 5 



154 

Let the circumstances or situations of life be what 
they will, a man should never neglect the improvement 
that is to be derived from observation. Let him travel 
into the East or West Indies, and fulfil the duties of the 
military or mercantile life there ; let him rove through 
the earth or the seas for his own humour as a traveller, 
or pursue his diversions in what part of the world he 
pleases as a gentleman; let prosperous or adverse for- 
tune call him to the most distant parts of the globe ; 
still let him carry on his knowledge, and the improve- 
ment of his faculties by wise observations. By these 
means he may render himself some way useful to man- 
kind. 

But in making your observations on persons, take care 
of indulging that busy curiosity, which is ever inquiring 
into private and domestic affairs with an endless itch Of 
learning the secret histories of families. Such curiosity 
begets suspicions and jealousies, and furnishes matter for 
the evil passions of the mind, and the impertinences of 
discourse. 

Be not also too hasty to erect general theories from a 
few particular observations, appearances, or experiments. 
This is what the logicians call a false induction. A 
hasty determination of some universal principles without 
a due survey of all the particular cases which may be in- 
cluded in them, is the way to lay a trap for our own un- 
derstandings in their investigation of any subject, and we 
shall often be taken captives by mistake and falsehood. 

Watts. 



155 

ADVANTAGES OF PUBLIC WORSHIP. 

Independently of the peculiar object of public religious 
assemblies, many collateral advantages are derived from 
them which the liberal thinker will by no means despise. 
The recurrence of appointed days of rest and leisure, 
which, but for this purpose, would never have been ap- 
pointed, divides the weary months of labour and servi- 
tude with a separating line of a brighter colour. The 
church is a centre of union for neighbours, friends, and 
townsmen ; and it is a reasonable and a pleasing ground 
of preference in our attachments, that we have " walked 
to the house of God in company." Even the common 
greetings that pass between those who meet there, are 
hallowed by the occasion of the meeting, and the spirit 
of civic urbanity is mingled with a still sweeter infusion 
of Christian courtesy. By the recurrence of this inter- 
course, feuds and animosities are composed, which inter- 
rupted the harmony of friends and acquaintance ; and 
those who avoided to meet, because they could not for- 
give, are led to forgive, being obliged to meet. Its effect 
in humanizing the lower orders of society, and fashioning 
their manners to the order and decorum of civil life, is 
apparent to every reflecting mind. The poor who have not 
formed a habit of attending here, remain from week to 
week in their sordid cells, or issue thence to places of li- 
centiousness more sordid ; while those who assemble with 
the other inhabitants of the place, are brought into the 
frequent view of their superiors; their persons are known, 

h 6 



156 

their appearance is noted ; the inquiring eye of benevo- 
lence pursues them to their humble cottages, and they are 
not unfrequently led home from social worship to the so- 
cial meal. If the rich and poor were but thus brought 
together regularly and universally, that single circum- 
stance would be found sufficient to remove the squalidness 
of misery, and the bitterness of want ; and poverty would 
exist only as a sober shade in the picture of life, on which 
the benevolent eye might rest with a degree of compla- 
cency when fatigued with the more gaudy colouring of 
luxury and show. Barbauld. 

CAUTIONS AGAINST ILL CONDUCT IN COMPANY. 

Carry with you into company all the gaiety and spirits, 
but as little of the giddiness of youth as you can. The 
former will charm ; but the latter will often, though inno- 
cently, implacably offend. 

Inform yourself of the characters and situations of the 
company, before you give way to what your imagination 
may prompt you to say. There are in all companies 
more wrong heads than right ones, and many more who 
deserve, than who like censure. Should you, therefore, 
loudly expatiate in praise of a good quality which some 
one in the company notoriously wants, or declaim against 
any ill one with which others are notoriously infected, 
your reflections, however general and unapplied, will be 
thought personal, and levelled at those people. 

Cautiously avoid talking of the domestic affairs either 
9 



157 

of yourself or of other people. Yours are nothing to 
them but tedious gossip ; theirs are nothing to you. 

Remember that the wit, humour, and jests, of most 
mixed companies are local. They may thrive very well 
in that particular soil, but will very seldom bear trans- 
planting. Every company is differently circumstanced, 
and has its particular cant and jargon : which may give 
occasion to wit and mirth within that circle, but would 
seem flat and insipid in any other, and therefore will not 
bear repeating. 

Take great care never to repeat in one company what 
you hear in another. Things seemingly indifferent may by 
circulation have much graver consequences than you would 
imagine. Besides there is a general tacit trust in convers- 
ation, by which a man is obliged not to report any thing out 
of it, though he is not immediately enjoined secrecy. 

Not to perceive the little weaknesses, and the idle but 
innocent affectations of the company, may be allowable 
as a sort of polite duty. The company will be pleased 
with you if you do this, and most probably will not be re- 
formed by you if you do not. Chesterfield. 

THE HISTORY OF OMAR. 

Omar, the son of Hassan, had passed seventy -five years 
in honour and prosperity. The favour of three successive 
califfs had filled his house with gold and silver ; and 
whenever he appeared, the benedictions of the people 
proclaimed his passage. 



158 

Terrestrial happiness is of short continuance. The 
brightness of the flame is wasting its fuel ; the fragrant 
flower is passing away in its own odours. The vigour of 
Omar began to fail, the curls of beauty fell from his head, 
strength departed from his hands, and agility from his 
feet. He gave back to the califf the keys of trust and the 
seals of secrecy ; and sought no other pleasure for the re- 
mains of life than the converse of the wise, and the grati- 
tude of the good. 

The powers of his mind were yet unimpaired. His 
chamber was filled by visitants, eager to catch the dic- 
tates of experience, and officious to pay the tribute of 
admiration. Caled, the son of the viceroy of Egypt, 
entered every day early, and retired late. He was beau- 
tiful and eloquent ; Omar admired his wit, and loved 
his docility. Tell me, said Caled, thou to whose voice 
nations have listened, and whose wisdom is known to the 
extremities of Asia, tell me how I may resemble Omar 
the prudent. The arts by which you have gained power 
and preserved it, are to you no longer necessary or use- 
ful ; impart to me the secret of your conduct, and teach 
me the plan upon which your wisdom has built your 
fortune. 

Young man, said Omar, it is of little use to form 
plans of life. When I took my first survey of the 
world in my twentieth year, having considered the va- 
rious conditions of mankind, in the hour of solitude I 
said thus to myself, leaning against a cedar which spread 
10 



159 

its branches over my head : seventy years are allowed to 
man ; I have yet fifty remaining : ten years I will allot to 
the attainment of knowledge, and ten I will pass in 
foreign countries : I shall be learned, and therefore shall 
be honoured; every city will shout at my arrival, and 
every student will solicit my friendship. Twenty years 
thus passed will store my mind with images which I shall 
be busy the rest of my life in combining and comparing* 
I shall revel in inexhaustible accumulations of intellectual 
riches ; I shall find new pleasures for every moment, and 
shall never more be weary of myself. I will, however, 
not deviate too far from the beaten track of life, but will 
try what can be found in female delicacy. I will marry a 
wife beautiful as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide ; with 
her I will live twenty years within the suburbs of Bag- 
dat, in every pleasure that wealth can purchase, and 
fancy can invent. I will then retire to a rural dwelling, 
pass my last days in obscurity and contemplation, and 
lie silently down on the bed of death. Through my life 
it shall be my settled resolution, that I will never depend 
upon the smile of princes : that I will never stand exposed 
to the artifices of courts ; I will never pant for public 
honours, nor disturb my quiet with affairs of state. Such 
was my scheme of life, which I impressed indelibly upon 
my memory. 

The first part of my ensuing time was to be spent in 
search of knowledge : and I know not how I was diverted 
from my design. I had no visible impediments with- 



160 

out, nor any ungovernable passions within. I regarded 
knowledge as the highest honour and the most engaging 
pleasure; yet day stole upon day, and month glided 
after month, till I found that seven years of the first ten 
had vanished and left nothing behind them. I now 
postponed my purpose of travelling ; for why should I 
go abroad while so much remained to be learned at 
home ? I immured myself for four years, and studied 
the laws of the empire. The fame of my skill reached 
the judges ; I was found able to speak upon doubtful 
questions, and was commanded to stand at the foot-stool 
of the califf. I was heard with attention, I was consulted 
with confidence, and the love of praise fastened on my 
heart. 

I still wished to see distant countries, listened with 
rapture to the relations of travellers, and resolved some 
time to ask my dismission, that I might feast my soul 
with novelty ; but my presence was always necessary, and 
the stream of business hurried me along. Sometimes I 
was afraid lest I should be charged with ingratitude ; but 
I still proposed to travel, and therefore would not confine 
myself by marriage. 

In my fiftieth year I began to suspect that the time of 
travelling was past, and thought it best to lay hold on 
the felicity yet in my power, and indulge myself in do- 
mestic pleasures. But at fifty no man easily finds a wo- 
man beautiful as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide. I 
inquired and rejected, consulted and deliberated, till the 



161 

sixty-second year made me ashamed of gazing upon girls. 
I had now nothing left but retirement, and for retirement 
I never found a time, till disease forced me from public 
employment. 

Such was my scheme, and such has been its conse* 
quences. With an insatiable thirst for knowledge, I trifled 
away the years of improvement ; with a restless desire of 
seeing different countries, I have always resided in the 
same city ; with the highest expectation of connubial 
felicity, I have lived unmarried ; and with unalterable re- 
solutions of contemplative retirement, I am going to die 
within the walls of Bagdat. Johnson. 

CHARACTER OF ALFRED, KING OF ENGLAND. 

The merit of this prince, both in private and public 
life, may with advantage be set in opposition to that of 
any monarch, or citizen, which the annals of any age or 
any nation can present to us. He seems indeed to be the 
complete model of that perfect character, which, under 
the denomination of a sage or wise man, the philosophers 
have been fond of delineating rather as a fiction of their 
imagination, than in hopes of ever seeing it reduced to 
practice; so happily were all his virtues tempered together, 
so justly were they blended, and so powerfully did each 
prevent the other from exceeding its proper bounds. 

He knew how to conciliate the most enterprising spirit 
with the coolest moderation ; the most obstinate perse- 
verance, with the easiest flexibility; themostsevere justice 



162 

with the greatest lenity ; the greatest vigour in command, 
with the greatest affability of deportment ; the highest 
capacity and inclination for science, with the most shining 
talents for action. 

His civil and his military virtues are almost equally the 
objects of our admiration, excepting only, that the former, 
being more rare among princes, as well as more useful, 
seem chiefly to challenge our applause. Nature also, as 
if desirous that so bright a production of her skill should 
be set in the fairest light, had bestowed on him all bodily 
accomplishments ; vigour of limbs, dignity of shape and 
air, and a pleasant, engaging, and open countenance. For- 
tune alone, by throwing him into a barbarous age, deprived 
him of historians worthy to transmit his fame to posterity. 
Alfred died in the year 897, aged 52. HumEc 

DESCRIPTION OF THE VALLEY OF ABYSSINIA. 

The place which the wisdom or policy of antiquity 
had destined for the residence of the Abyssinian princes, 
was a spacious valley in the kingdom of Ambara, sur- 
rounded on every side by mountains, of which the sum- 
mits overhang the middle part. The only passage by 
which it could be entered was a cavern that passed under 
a rock, of which it had long been disputed whether it 
was the work of nature or of human industry. The out- 
let of the cavern was concealed by a thick wood, and 
the mouth which opened into the valley was closed with 
gates of iron, forged by the artificers of ancient days, so 



163 

massy that no man without the help of engines could 
open or shut them. 

From the mountains on every side, rivulets descended 
that filled all the valley with verdure and fertility, and 
formed a lake in the middle, inhabited by fish of every 
species, and frequented by every fowl whom nature has 
taught to dip the wing in water. The lake discharged its s 
superfluities by a stream which entered a dark cleft of 
the mountain on the northern side, and fell with dreadful 
noise from precipice to precipice till it was heard no 
more. 

The sides of the mountains were covered with trees ; 
the banks of the brooks were diversified with flowers ; 
every blast shook spices from the rocks, and every month 
dropped fruits upon the ground. All animals that bite 
the grass, or browse the shrub, whether tame or wild, 
wandered in this extensive circuit, secured from beasts 
of prey by the mountains which confined them. On one 
part were flocks and herds feeding in the pastures, on 
another, all the beasts of chase frisking in the lawns ; 
the sprightly kid was bounding on the rocks, the subtle 
monkey frolicking in the trees, and the solemn elephant 
reposing in the shade. All the diversions of the world 
were brought together, the blessings of nature were col- 
lected, and its evils extracted and excluded. 

Johnson. 



164 



CHARACTER OF GROTIUS. 

If we fairly estimate both the endowments and the vir- 
tues of Grotius, we may justly consider him as one of the 
most memorable men who have done honour to modern 
times. He combined the discharge of the most important 
duties of active and public life, with the attainment of that 
exact and various learning which is generally the portion 
only of the recluse student. He was distinguished as an 
advocate and magistrate, and he composed the most valu- 
able work on the law of his own country : he was almost 
equally celebrated as an historian, a scholar, a poet, and 
a divine: a disinterested statesman, a philosophical lawyer; 
a patriot, who united moderation with firmness, and a 
theologian, who was taught candour by his learning. 
Unmerited exile did not damp his patriotism ; the bit- 
terness of controversy did not extinguish his charity. 
The sagacity of his numerous and fierce adversaries could 
not discover a blot on his character ; and in the midst of 
all the hard trials and galling provocations of a turbulent 
political life, he never once deserted his friends when they 
were unfortunate, nor insulted his enemies when they were 
weak. Sir James Mackintosh. 

HAMAN; OR, THE MISERY OF PRIDE. 

Ahasuerus, who is supposed to be the prince known 
among the Greek historians by the name of Artaxerxes, 
had advanced to the chief dignity in his kingdom, Haman, 



165 

an Amalekite, who inherited all the ancient enmity of his 
race to the Jewish nation. He appears, from what is 
recorded of him, to have been a very wicked minister. 
Raised to greatness without merit, he employed his power 
solely for the gratification of his passions. As the ho- 
nours which he possessed were next to royal, his pride 
was every day fed with that servile homage, which is pe- 
culiar to Asiatic courts ; and all the servants of the king 
prostrated themselves before him. In the midst of this 
general adulation, one person only stooped not to Haman. 
This was Mordecai the Jew ; who, knowing this Amale- 
kite to be an enemy to the people of God; and, with 
virtuous indignation, despising that insolence x>f pros- 
perity with which he saw him lifted up, " bowed not, nor 
did him reverence." On this appearance of disrespect 
from Mordecai, Haman " was full of wrath: but he 
thought scorn to lay hands on Mordecai alone." Per- 
sonal revenge was not sufficient to satisfy him. So vio- 
lent and black were his passions, that he resolved to 
exterminate the whole nation to which Mordecai belonged. 
Abusing, for his cruel purpose, the favour of his cre- 
dulous sovereign, he obtained a decree to be sent forth, 
that, against a certain day, all the Jews throughout the 
Persian dominions should be put to the sword. Mean- 
while, confident of success, and blind to approaching 
ruin, he continued exulting in his prosperity. Invited 
by Ahasuerus to a royal banquet, which Esther the queen 
had prepared, " he went forth that day joyful, and with 



166 

a glad heart." But behold how slight an incident was 
sufficient to poison his joy ! As he went forth, he saw 
Mbrdecai in the king's gate ; and observed, that he still 
refused to do him homage : " he stood not up, nor was 
moved for him," although he well knew the formidable 
designs which Haman was preparing to execute. One 
private man, who despised his greatness, and disdained 
submission, while a whole kingdom trembled before him ; 
one spirit, which the utmost stretch of his power could 
neither subdue nor humble, blasted his triumphs. His 
whole soul was shaken with a storm of passion. Wrath, 
pride, and desire of revenge, rose into fury. With diffi- 
culty, he restrained himself in public ; but as soon as he 
came to his own house, he was forced to disclose, the 
agony of his mind. He gathered together his friends 
and family, with Zeresh his wife. " He told them of the 
glory of his riches, and the multitude of his children, 
and of all the things wherein the king had promoted him ; 
and how he had advanced him above the princes and ser- 
vants of the king." He said, moreover, " Yea, Esther 
the queen suffered no man to come in with the king to 
the banquet that she had prepared, but myself; and to- 
morrow also am I invited to her with the king." After all 
this preamble, what is the conclusion? — " Yet all this 
availeth me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew 
sitting at the king's gate.'* 

The sequel of Haman's history I shall not now pursue. 
It might afford matter for much instruction by the conspi- 



167 

cuous justice of God in his fall and punishment. But con- 
templating only the singular situation in which the expres- 
sions just quoted present him, and the violent agitation 
of his mind which they display, the following reflections 
naturally arise : how miserable is vice, when one guilty 
passion creates so much torment ! how unavailing is pros- 
perity, when, in the height of it, a single disappointment 
can destroy the relish of all its pleasures ! how weak is 
human nature, which, in the absence of real, is thus prone 
to form to itself imaginary woes ! Blair. 

TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF THE EARL OF STRAFFORD. 

The earl of Strafford defended himself against the accu- 
sations of the house of commons, with all the presence of 
mind, judgment, and sagacity, that could be expected 
from innocence and ability. His children were placed 
beside him, as he was thus defending his life, and the cause 
of his royal master. After he had, in a long and eloquent 
speech, delivered without premeditation, confuted all the 
accusations of his enemies, he thus drew to a conclusion: 
" But, my lords, I have troubled you too long; longer 
than I should have done, but for the sake of these dear 
pledges, which a saint in heaven has left me." — Upon this 
he paused ; dropt a tear ; looked upon his children ; and 
proceeded — " What I forfeit for myself is a trifle: that my 
indiscretions should reach my posterity, wounds me to the 
heart. Pardon my infirmity — Something I should have 
added, but I am not able ; and therefore I let it pass. And 



168 

now, my lords, for myself. I have long been taught, that 
the afflictions of this life are overpaid by that eternal 
weight of glory which awaits the innocent. And so, my 
lords, even so, with the utmost tranquillity, I submit my- 
self to your judgment, whether that judgment be life or 
death : not my will, but thine, O God, be done !" 

His eloquence and innocence induced those judges to 
pity, who were the most zealous to condemn him. The 
king himself went to the house of lords, and spoke for some 
time in his defence ; but the spirit of vengeance, which had 
been chained for eleven years, was now roused ; and no- 
thing but his blood could give the people satisfaction. He 
was condemned by both houses of parliament ; and nothing 
remained but for the king to give his consent to the bill of 
attainder. But in the present commotion, the consent of 
the king would very easily be dispensed with ; and immi- 
nent danger might attend his refusal. Charles, however, 
who loved Strafford tenderly, hesitated, and seemed re- 
luctant ; trying every expedient to put off so dreadful an 
office, as that of signing the warrant for his execution. 
While he continued in this agitation of mind, and state of 
suspense, his doubts were at last silenced by an act of great 
magnanimity in the condemned lord. He received a letter 
from that unfortunate nobleman, desiring that his life might 
be made a sacrifice, to obtain reconciliation between the 
king and his people ; adding, that he was prepared to die ; 
and that to a willing mind there could be no injury. This 
instance of noble generosity was but ill repaid by his mas- 



169 

ter, who complied with his request. He consented to sign 
the fatal bill by commission : and Strafford was beheaded 
on Tower-hill ; behaving with all that composed dignity of 
resolution, which was expected from his character. 

Goldsmith. 

character of james i. king of england. 

No prince, so little enterprising and so inoffensive, was 
ever so much exposed to the opposite extremes of calumny 
and flattery? of satire and panegyric. And the factions 
which began in his time, being still continued, have caused 
his character to be as much disputed to this day, as is 
commonly that of princes who are our contemporaries. 
Many virtues, however, it must be owned, he was pos- 
sessed of; but not one of them pure, or free from the 
contagion of the neighbouring vices. His generosity 
bordered on profusion, his learning on pedantry, bis pa- 
cific disposition on pusillanimity, his wisdom on cunning, 
his friendship on light fancy and boyish fondness. While 
he imagined that he was only maintaining his own autho- 
rity, he may perhaps be suspected in some of his actions, 
and still more of his pretensions, to have encroached on 
the liberties of his people. While he endeavoured, by an 
exact neutrality, to acquire the good will of all his neigh- 
bours, he was able to preserve fully the esteem and re- 
gard of none. His capacity was considerable, but fitter 
to discourse on general maxims than to conduct any in- 
tricate business. 



170 

His intentions were just, but more adapted to the con- 
duct of private life, than to the government of kingdoms. 
Awkward in his person, and ungainly in his manners, he 
was ill qualified to command respect : partial and undis- 
cerning in his affections, he was little fitted to acquire 
general love. Of a feeble temper, more than of a frugal 
judgment ; exposed to our ridicule from his vanity, but 
exempt from our hatred by his freedom from pride and 
arrogance. And, upon the whole, it may be pronounced 
of his character, that all his qualities were sullied with 
weakness, and embellished by humanity. Political courage 
he was certainly devoid of; and thence chiefly is derived 
the strong prejudice, which prevails against his personal 
bravery ; an inference, however, which must be owned, 
from general experience, to be extremely fallacious. 

Hume. 
the close of life. 

When we contemplate the close of life ; the termination 
of man's designs and hopes ; the silence that now reigns 
among those who, a little while ago, were so busy, or so 
gay: who can avoid being touched with sensations at 
once awful and tender? What heart but then warms with 
the glow of humanity ? In whose eye does not the tear 
gather, on revolving the fate of passing and short-lived 
man? 

Behold the poor man, who lays down at last the burden 
of his wearisome life. No more shall he groan under the 
Joad of poverty and toil. No more shall he hear the inso- 

17 



171 

lent calls of the master, from whom he received his scanty 
wages. No more shall he be raised from needful slumber 
on his bed of straw, nor be hurried away from his homely 
meal, to undergo the repeated labours of the day. While 
his humble grave is preparing, and a few poor and de- 
cayed neighbours are carrying him thither, it is good for 
us to think, that this man too was our brother ; that for 
him the aged and destitute wife, and the needy children, 
now weep ; that neglected as he was by the world, he 
possessed, perhaps, both a sound understanding, and a 
worthy heart ; and is now carried by angels to rest in 
Abraham's bosom. — At no great distance from him, the 
grave is opened to receive the rich and proud man. For, 
as it is said with emphasis in the parable, " the rich man 
also died, and was buried." He also died. His riches 
prevented not his sharing the same fate with the poor 
man ; perhaps, through luxury, they accelerated his doom. 
Then, indeed, " the mourners go about the streets ;" and 
while, in all the pomp and magnificence of woe, his funeral 
is preparing, his heirs, impatient to examine his will, are 
looking on one another with jealous eyes, and already be- 
ginning to dispute about the division of his substance. — 
One day, we see carried along, the coffin of the smiling 
infant ; the flower just nipped as it began to blossom in 
the parent's view : and the next day we behold the young 
man or young woman of blooming form and promising 
hopes, laid in an untimely grave. While the funeral is 
attended by a numerous unconcerned company, who are 

i 2 



172 

discoursing with one another about the news of the day, 
or the ordinary affairs of life, let our thoughts rather 
follow to the house of mourning, and represent to them- 
selves what is passing there. There we shall see a dis- 
consolate family, sitting in silent grief, thinking of the sad 
breach that is made in their little society ; and with tears 
in their eyes looking to the chamber that is now left 
vacant, and to every memorial that presents itself of 
their departed friend. By such attention to the woes of 
others, the selfish hardness of our hearts will be gradually 
softened, and melted down into humanity. 

THE PLANETARY AND TERRESTRIAL WORLDS 
COMPARATIVELY CONSIDERED. 

To us who dwell on its surface, the earth is by far the 
most extensive orb that our eyes can any where behold : 
it is also clothed with verdure, distinguished by trees, and 
adorned with a variety of beautiful decorations; whereas, 
to a spectator placed on one of the planets, it wears an uni- 
form aspect; looks all luminous ; and no larger than a spot. 
To beings who dwell at still greater distances, it entirely 
disappears. That which we call alternately the morning 
and the evening star (as in one part of the orbit she rides 
foremost in the procession of night, in the other ushers 
in and anticipates the dawn), is a planetary world. This 
planet, and the four others that so wonderfully vary their 
mystic dance, are in themselves dark bodies, and shine only 
by reflection; have fields, and seas, and skfes of their 



173 

own ; are furnished with all accommodations for animal 
subsistence, and are supposed to be the abodes of intel- 
lectual life ; all which, together with our earthly habita- 
tion, are dependent on that grand dispenser of Divine 
munificence, the sun ; receive their light from the distri- 
bution of his rays, and derive their comfort from his be- 
nign agency. 

The sun, which seems to perform its daily stages through 
the sky, is in this respect fixed and immoveable: it is the 
great axle of heaven, about which the globe we inhabit, 
and other more spacious orbs, wheel their stated courses. 
The sun, though seemingly smaller than the dial it illumi- 
nates, is abundantly larger than this whole earth, on which 
so many lofty mountains rise, and such vast oceans roll. 
A line extending from side to side, through the centre of 
that resplendent orb, would measure more than eight hun- 
dred thousand miles : a girdle formed to go round its cir- 
cumference, would require a length of millions. Were its 
solid contents to be estimated, the account would over- 
whelm our understanding, and be almost beyond the power 
of language to express. Are we startled at these reports 
of philosophy 1 Are we ready to cry out in a transport of 
surprise, " How mighty is the Being who kindled so prodi- 
gious a fire ; and keeps alive, from age to age, so enormous 
a mass of flame !" Let us attend our philosophical guides, 
and we shall be brought acquainted with speculations 
more enlarged and more inflaming. 

This sun, with all its attendant planets, is but a very 



174 

little part of the grand machine of the universe: every star, 
though in appearance no bigger than the diamond that glit- 
ters upon a lady's ring, is really a vast globe like the sun 
in size and in glory ; no less spacious, no less luminous, 
than the radiant source of day. So that every star is not 
barely a world, but the centre of a magnificent system ; 
has a retinue of worlds, irradiated by its beams, and re- 
volving round its attractive influence, all which are lost to 
our sight in immeasurable wilds of ether. That the stars 
appear like so many diminutive and scarcely distinguish- 
able points, is owing to their immense and inconceivable 
distance. Immense and inconceivable indeed it is, since a 
ball, shot from the loaded cannon, and flying with una- 
bated rapidity, must travel at this impetuous rate, almost 
seven hundred thousand years, before it could reach the 
nearest of these twinkling luminaries. 

While, beholding this vast expanse, I learn my own 
extreme meanness, I would also discover the abject little- 
ness of all terrestrial things. What is the earth with all 
her ostentatious scenes, compared with this astonishingly 
grand furniture of the skies ? What, but a dim speck, 
hardly perceivable in the map of the universe ? It is ob- 
served by a very judicious writer, that if the sun himself 
which enlightens this part of the creation, were extin- 
guished, and all the host of planetary worlds which move 
about him, were annihilated, they would not be missed by 
an eye that can take in the whole compass of nature, any 
more than a grain of sand upon the sea shore. The bulk 



175 

of which they consist, and the space which they occupy, 
are so exceedingly little in comparison of the whole, that 
their loss would scarcely leave a blank in the immensity 
of God's works. If then, not our globe only, but this 
whole system, be so very diminutive, what is a kingdom 
or a country? What are a few lordships, or the so much 
admired patrimonies of those who are styled wealthy ? 
When I measure them with my own little pittance, they 
swell into proud and bloated dimensions : but when I 
take the universe for my standard, how scanty is their 
size ! how contemptible their figure ! They shrink into 
pompous nothings. Addison. 



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